Run To You
by JusttMee123
Summary: Historical AU: 1909. Against all odds a young Dmitry is plucked from the streets of St. Petersburg and invited to live with the Royal family as the companion to the Tsarevich Alexei. But the Russian Revolution is looming on the horizon and the country is becoming more dangerous by the day.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello again everyone! I'm very excited about this story. I've been absolutely fascinated by the real Romanovs since early high school, and Anastasia has been a favorite movie since pretty much before I can remember._ _I drew a lot of inspiration for the concept from_ LucyCrewe11 _'s story White Fabergé Lilies, which I absolutely recommend you go read because it really is a fantastic story. I'm trying to keep this as historically accurate as possible, though I will take some historical and artistic freedoms when necessary. I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

1908

There was a certain excitement in disobeying your parents, Anastasia decided. It was a kind of exhilarating thrill you couldn't get from doing anything else.

Oh, she knew she would be grounded for months, years even, if her parents knew she had snuck out of the palace. That just made it more exciting for her. Besides, it's not like anyone would be missing her. They were all preparing for the state dinner tonight, and she'd been told to stay out of the way. And what better way to do that than by leaving the palace altogether? It was so wonderful to roam the streets of St. Petersburg by herself. She never got to do what she wanted on the rare occasion they went out, and now she could. She'd even taken special care to dress in her most plain clothes so as not to draw attention to herself, which she thought was very clever of her if she did say so herself.

The streets were bustling with so much activity that she could hardly focus. There was so much to see! She'd have to sneak out again at the next chance, because there was no way she'd be able to see everything today. Anastasia gaped at the jewels in one shop's window. She wished Papa and Mama would allow her a larger allowance. Looking around she simply wanted to buy everything, but didn't have even enough money on her for a pair of shoes. It was a shame really. They thought a seven year old had no need for a lot of money. Maybe if she told her parents she needed money for a present for Maria, or maybe Alexei? But that thought was dismissed quickly, because then she'd have to come back with something for them, and that defeated the purpose. Plus, they'd never let her go on her own like this. No, she would just have to save her money.

Anastasia paused to pet one of the horses hooked to a carriage for a few minutes before she was chased away by the driver. Giggling to herself she ran down the road and around the corner. She leaned against the railing on a small bridge above a river, dangling her arms over and watching the water flow. Yes, she'd definitely have to sneak out again soon.

A small tugging sensation caught her attention and she spun quicker than she ever had before. Letting out a gasp, she stumbled backwards into the railing. A boy who looked to be a few years older than she was stood directly behind her, his hand where her pocket had just been.

"What do you think you're doing?" she cried, swatting his hand away. The boy's hand opened by mistake and a few coins dropped to the ground. Fury rose up inside her seeing that, and she quickly stooped to pick the coins up.

"I'm sorry," the boy stammered. "You weren't supposed to catch me."

" _That's_ what you're sorry about?" she said, affronted. "You're sorry you got caught? What about being sorry you stole from me? Do you even know who I am?"

The boy's face turned a deep shade of scarlet. "Uh, no. Sorry. Should I?"

Well _now_ she was really offended. Anastasia drew herself up to her full height, which even she had to admit was a bit pathetic when she saw she only came up to his chin. "For your information, I am the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov, and I can have you arrested for stealing from me!"

To her ever-increasing astonishment, the boy did not immediately bow or apologize. Instead he looked at her blankly, looking rather stupid she thought. Narrowing her eyes at him, she crossed her arms.

"You have terrible manners," she announced, her arms still folded across her chest. "Didn't you hear me? Are you deaf as well?" She reached up toward his ears as if to check if they were blocked, but the boy pushed her hand away.

"I can hear you just fine," he snapped back. "But my papa says I shouldn't have to bow to you."

"Well your papa sounds like an idiot. You have to bow to me. It's just what people do."

"Don't call him an idiot!" Anastasia was taken aback when the boy stepped toward her, his hands clenched into tight fists. "My papa is a good man. He just thinks that no one is born better than anyone else. He says that we all make ourselves better than our circumstances."

Anastasia dodged around the boy so she was no longer cornered against the bridge. "Well that's dumb," she said. "My papa says me and my family were chosen by God to be in charge and lead the country. And my papa is the Tsar, so what he says is the law." She nodded impressively, staring at the boy as if daring him to challenge her. When he didn't, she smirked to herself. She turned on her heel to leave, and was stunned when the boy grabbed her by her upper arm.

"Where are you going?" he asked, quickly letting go when she glared at him again.

"I'm going home," she said stiffly. "If this is how I'm going to be treated out here, then I want to go home."

"You live in the palace, right?"

"Of _course_ , I live in the palace," she said. "Where did you think I lived? Under this bridge?"

"No, your Highness," the boy said, flushing again. "But the palace is that way." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing in the opposite direction she had been heading. Anastasia visibly deflated. How pathetic she felt now; she wouldn't have been able to find her own way home.

"Thanks," she said, though her tone was biting. "What's your name anyway?"

"I'm Dmitry," the boy said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I can walk with you if you'd like. In case you run into anymore pickpockets." He tried to smile at her, but the look on her face plainly said she didn't appreciate the joke.

"Fine," she said. "But if you try anything, I'll make sure my papa arrests you himself."

* * *

Despite nearly being caught sneaking back into the palace last time, Anastasia couldn't help herself. The next chance she got to leave the palace on her own came a few weeks down the line, when some distant cousins were coming to visit. Mama, Papa, Olga and Tatiana would all be entertaining them, and Maria and Alexei were visiting Nana in Paris. Originally Anastasia was meant to have gone to Paris with them, but she'd misbehaved last week during a meeting and her punishment was that she was no longer permitted to go. At the time, crawling under the table and acting like a dog had seemed funny- especially to Maria, who couldn't stop giggling about it even hours after Anastasia was escorted from the room. It really wasn't fair.

But now it seemed like something good might come out of it. It was still all too easy to slip away from the palace, once again dressed in what she called her peasant clothes. She grinned to herself as she walked quickly down the street. She'd brought more money with her this time, though she still wasn't hopeful of finding anything she could afford. Still, it made her feel important, and that's what mattered to her.

Her plans changed, though, when she stumbled upon the horse drawn carriages again. She was no stranger to the carriages, having been exposed to them all her life. But the palace's horses all looked well taken care of and better fed than these ones. They all looked rather depressed and tired, and it only took her one second to redirect her course.

In a matter of minutes, she had spent all the money she'd brought with her on some apples, which she shoved in her bag with a quick thanks to the clerk. Making her way back to the horses, she took extra care to make sure their drivers weren't looking before giving them each an apple and patting them a few times. Quite a few perked up a lot when she held the treat out to them, and a few even tried to nibble on her hair. She was halfway down the street when a voice made her jump.

"You! Are you crazy?" Anastasia nearly jumped out of her skin and prepared to look as innocent as possible.

"Oh, it's you," she breathed, once she'd turned to face the voice. It was the boy from the bridge- Daniil? Dmitry?

"What are you doing out here again?" he said, grabbing her shoulder and steering her away from the horses.

"Well I needed a break from my family," she sniffed. "It's so boring at home without Maria and Alexei, and my parents are punishing me unfairly."

"Yeah, it sounds horrible," Dmitry huffed, glancing over his shoulder. Following his gaze, Anastasia spotted three older boys who were quite plainly waiting for Dmitry to return. Perhaps his friends? They looked too old to be his friends though. Maybe one was his brother, and the other two were his brother's friends. Yeah, that must be it.

"What are you guys doing?" She said eagerly. "Can I join you?"

Dmitry hesitated, half glancing over his shoulder again. "Uh, maybe that's not a good idea. Maksim barely trusts me as it is, and I don't think he'd like you very much."

"Well why not?" Anastasia demanded. "I'm charming!"

"You're something," Dmitry laughed. "But Maksim's different. Things are different here on the streets. Plus, you'd stick out too much."

"Well I think I should ask him," she said. "Besides, he has to do what I say." Anastasia skirted around Dmitry, quick as a flash.

"No!" he exclaimed, grabbing her by the back of her dress. "Whatever you do, don't go announcing who you are out here. Especially in this part of town."

"Why?"

"Just trust me," he said, slowly letting go of her dress. "The people around here aren't likely to bow unquestioningly to you if they knew who you were."

"Well that's silly," she insisted, but made no move toward the older boys again. Dmitry's stomach suddenly growled loudly, and the boy turned bright red as he tried to muffle the sound.

"You're hungry?" she asked, her annoyance melting away in an instant. Dmitry shook his head.

"I've had worse," he insisted, though his stomach growled again. Without saying another word, Anastasia plunged her hand into her bag and pulled out the last two apples she had.

"Here," she said, pushing them into his hands. Dmitry considered the fruit for a second before accepting them.

"Stay here," Dmitry said, backing away. Anastasia watched as he turned to talk to the boys. She couldn't hear what they were saying from where she stood, but whatever he told them they seemed to accept. He bounded back over to her and led her back up the street.

"Come on," he breathed. "I'm taking you home."

"But I don't want to go home," she said, shaking off his arm. "I want to stay out here."

"I'm just trying to look out for you, Anastasia."

"How dare you call me that. That's your Highness to you," she hissed, then paused to think for a moment. "Besides, I thought you said people around here can't know who I am. What if someone overheard you?"

"Well what else am I supposed to call you?" Dmitry was becoming annoyed very quickly with the younger girl.

"Well I don't know," she said, "something else. Like a nickname. My sisters call me Nastya. I guess you can call me that too when I'm out here."

"I'm not calling you anything while you're out here, because you're not sneaking out ever again," he informed her.

"I'll have you know Dmitry, that I don't have to listen to a word you say," she said. "You're not the boss of me, and you wouldn't be even if I wasn't a Grand Duchess."

"It's for your own good," he tried to insist.

"I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much." Anastasia turned her back on him and stomped all the way back to the palace on her own.

* * *

 _Please review and tell me what you think! (But also please be nice because it's my baby. I'll accept criticisms, but please no flames.)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Alright, so I haven't gotten much feedback yet on this, but I'll keep posting. I've got a few more chapters prewritten, and I know this part is boring, but I promise it'll pick up soon._

 _EDIT: Alright, so originally, this was posted under the musical category for Anastasia, but I wasn't getting feedback for it and I'm vain and insecure. So I'm gonna keep it here for now and maybe eventually I'll move it back over once that section gains a little popularity? Just a warning though, this will have elements from both the movie and the Broadway musical, so just keep that in mind._

* * *

In spite of Dmitry's warnings, Anastasia snuck out multiple times in the following months. Most times she just wandered around, and somehow, she managed to find Dmitry almost every time. Occasionally Dmitry wondered if she hadn't put a tracker on him somehow. Of course, not only was that impractical, but he'd also searched every inch of his body and his clothes and found nothing. He was forced to conclude that she was just very good at finding trouble.

With that realization came a kind of protectiveness for her. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it yet, as he wasn't sure why he felt so responsible for her. It wasn't like she was his sister or anything, though she did manage to annoy him without fail every time they did meet.

Sometimes it was on purpose, like the time she slowly snuck pebbles in his pockets until his pants were so heavy they were practically falling off him. In hindsight, he did have to admit it had been a clever trick. Sometimes it wasn't on purpose, though. She could act so entitled and snobbish sometimes. He knew it wasn't her fault, being that she was raised in a palace where everyone but her parents would bend to her every whim. The problem was that on the streets, especially when no one knew who she really was, she couldn't very well demand that people do her bidding and that made her furious.

He'd never forget the time they ran into Maksim and Yuri again. This time they did not accept his excuses so easily, and the pair had had to endure a few minutes of teasing. Dmitry knew, having practically lived with them for almost a year now, that what they had said was mild and that they were merely having fun. There had been no malice behind their words. But Anastasia took everything they said seriously, and after a few minutes she grew bold in her anger. She'd planted her feet, stood up straight with her hands on her hips, and demanded that they leave her alone and move out of her way. Naturally to two older boys laughed, and Dmitry forced out a few laughs as well, trying not to show them how anxious he was. After that he'd managed to drag Anastasia back the other way, though she fought him every step.

"What was that for?" he'd demanded once they were away from the boys. "You really must be crazy, that's the only explanation I can think of."

"I'm not crazy," she'd snapped at him. "I just think they ought to have shown a little more respect is all."

"Well what did you want them to do? Bow to you? Kiss your shoes?"

It had been a joke, but Anastasia answered seriously. "Yes!" she cried. "Kissing my shoes is going a bit far and you know it, Dmitry. But they should have bowed."

"They don't know who you are, _Nastya_ ," Dmitry tried to explain, putting emphasis on the nickname. She was often guilty of forgetting this fact.

"Well fine, then they didn't have to bow. But they shouldn't have been so cruel, and they should have moved when I told them to." She'd stormed off down the street after that, and though he'd followed her, she didn't speak to him for the rest of the day.

* * *

One day, about a year after they met, Anastasia announced that there would be a parade in a few weeks. She wasn't entirely sure what it was for, but she didn't think that mattered much. What mattered to her was that she'd have to sit in a carriage for hours with her sisters and had to be on her best behavior _or else._ The thought alone was torturous.

"I'm sure it can't be so bad," Dmitry laughed, skipping another rock across the pond's surface. "It's not like you have to do anything. You just have to sit there and look nice."

" _Exactly,_ " Anastasia said, throwing a rock as hard as she could. "I don't want to just sit there. That's so boring."

"So can't you tell your parents you don't want to do it?"

Anastasia barked a laugh. "As if. Apparently, it's one of my duties to sit and be stared at like an animal in a zoo." She tossed another rock into the pond, huffing when it simply splashed into the water and sank. "If I had my way, we'd at least be walking. But Mama says it's simply not possible."

"Well she probably knows better than you," Dmitry pointed out, then held his breath. He was guilty of occasionally speaking before thinking, and it usually ended one of two ways. Anastasia would either get mad and stomp off, or she would laugh. Today he was lucky.

"I know _that_ ," she smiled. "I just wish it was different, that's all."

"Well the parade sounds dumb anyway," Dmitry said, tossing another rock and smiling when it skipped four times- a new record for him. "You should sneak away and find me." Anastasia turned to him.

"You won't watch?" she asked, confusion clouding her features. She knew he didn't have much of an opinion on royalty, but she'd thought she'd at least be able to catch a glimpse of him. In fact, she was hoping she would, as it would give her something to look forward to. But Dmitry simply shrugged.

"Like you said, it sounds boring." He didn't seem to notice her disappointment at all, even as she fell uncharacteristically quiet. He walked her back to the palace as he usually did, seemingly unaware that her feelings had been hurt.

* * *

Anastasia had a handful of opportunities to sneak out of the palace in the following weeks, but declined to take advantage of any of them. She simply didn't feel like seeing Dmitry for a while after she told him about the parade, and it wasn't as if he'd ever know she chose not to meet him. She'd go see him when she got a chance to after the parade, she told herself.

The day of the parade arrived, and Anastasia reluctantly followed her parents and sisters to the carriages. She would be riding with her sisters in one, while her mother, father, and Alexei were in another. She allowed herself to be loaded into the carriage next to Maria and fussed over for a few seconds, before she rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at the servant's back.

The parade seemed to last hours. Maybe it did. At first it had been a little exciting, being so close to the crowds of people. Even Anastasia had to admit that. But after a while it became monotonous.

Mama had said they all had to keep their composure, though, so she sat as straight as she could though she longed to lean against the side of the carriage. It was so hot out that day, and they were all dressed in the heaviest gowns possible. It seemed like bad planning to Anastasia, whose back had begun to ache between the weight of the gown and sitting so straight. Eventually she found that by staring at the back of Olga's head, who was seated in front of her, she could maintain the appearance of gazing at the crowd while letting her mind drift.

"Anastasia!"

A voice snapped her back to the present all of a sudden, her head automatically turning at the sound of her name. She was struck but how close they were to the palace again; had they really travelled that far while she daydreamed? The voice called again, and again, and finally she was able to locate the source.

Dmitry was jogging through the crowd waving to her, wearing the goofiest grin she'd ever seen. Her eyes widened at the sight, and she had to fight hard not to smile back at him.

 _'You don't know him,'_ she reminded herself. _'No one knows you've met him before. He's just another person in a crowd.'_

There was a collective gasp on the side of the road, and Anastasia watched with horror and delight as Dmitry managed to dodge between the guards lining the street. By this point the rest of her sisters had noticed him too, and Anastasia's serene expression nearly slipped when she saw how cross Tatiana looked. She did smirk the tiniest bit as Dmitry ran closer to the carriage and Tatiana looked impossibly angrier. Dmitry, seeing this, reached his hand up toward her, though he was still ten feet away. Then, he sunk into the most awkward bow she had ever seen, never taking his eyes off her.

Anastasia couldn't help it. She was grinning at him, and he back at her. Beside her, Maria giggled lightly and Tatiana shushed them. The carriage continued moving, bringing them past where Dmitry stood. Anastasia knew better than to look back at him, no matter how much she wanted to. She wasn't too bothered by it. She would see him later.


	3. Chapter 3

_This chapter is kind of a long one. Originally part of it was supposed to be part of the last chapter, but then there wasn't a good stopping point and it was too long to keep the entire thing together, so I split it up this way. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Dmitry waited eagerly by the bridge he'd first tried to rob Anastasia on. Both of them had come to think of it as their bridge, and more often than not it was where they met. He had not seen her for a few weeks, but he felt certain she would come that afternoon.

He was right, and she didn't keep him waiting long. Less than two hours after the parade ended, he spotted her making her way through the crowd toward their bridge. He headed off to meet her, and was surprised when she threw her arms around him. He hugged her back hesitantly after a moment.

"Dmitry, you were hilarious!" she exclaimed when she released him. "You should have seen how Tatiana and Olga carried on when we got back home. They were so mad Marie and I smiled."

"They were?" Dmitry said, suddenly nervous. He sincerely hoped he hadn't made the Grand Duchesses too mad. He hadn't thought about that at all.

Anastasia, however, didn't seen too concerned. "Oh yeah," she beamed. "I've never seen Tatiana turn that shade of red before. It was great. She gets so worked up over the smallest things, even Mama told her to calm down."

"Did I get you in trouble?" he asked.

"Well," she said, drawing the word out. "Mama was disappointed I didn't just ignore you. But she also doesn't know you're not a stranger. Papa was nicer, he said he thought you were funny, too."

Worry pooled in Dmitry's stomach, making him feel nauseous. He had only been trying to catch Anastasia's attention and make her smile. He hadn't meant to anger the other princesses and earn the disapproval of her mother. It must have shown on his face, because Anastasia grabbed his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

"Don't worry about Mama, she's actually very nice. She just cares about our appearances a lot," she reassured him. Her words did little to soothe him, but he tried not to let Anastasia see that. "Anyway, I have to get back to the palace soon. I probably shouldn't have left, but I just had to see you. Will you walk back with me?" She had missed him terribly the past few weeks, not that she would ever admit it to him.

He nodded and followed her silently. She chattered away as if neither of them had a care in the world. Dmitry, on the other hand, was still thinking about the Tsarina. She had always seemed to be an imposing woman, from what Dmitry saw of her. She almost never smiled in public, and not too many people he knew thought very highly of her. Anastasia regarded her mother with reverence and love, but she was hardly an unbiased source. He was so caught up in his thoughts that it shocked him when Anastasia suddenly pushed him into a bush.

"Hey-!"

"Shh!" She hissed at him. Dmitry huffed his annoyance but fell silent, and that's when he heard the shouting.

"We've found her! She's by the west gate!"

"Your highness, where have you been? What are you wearing? The Empress has been worried sick about you."

"I'm fine, I've just been walking around the gardens," he heard Anastasia say, far too innocently. She was definitely an actress he thought, shaking his head. Through the gaps in the leaves he saw one guard turning Anastasia this way and that, apparently looking for any injuries. He rolled his eyes and stifled a snort.

Suddenly a hand grabbed him roughly by the back of his shirt. Letting out a startled yelp, he was dragged from his hiding place out into the open. Anastasia turned to him with panic in her eyes, but said nothing.

"Who are you?" the guard demanded.

"No one!" Dmitry cried, trying to twist out of the guard's grasp without success. "Please, let me go!"

"Why are you sneaking around the palace? Were you following the princess?"

"No!"

"Who are you working for?" Dmitry was shoved roughly to his knees.

"Stop it!" Anastasia shrieked. "You're hurting him!"

"What is going on here?" a new voice demanded. Dmitry felt the hand let go of him, and looked up as Anastasia threw herself at the newcomer.

"We found an intruder with your daughter, your Majesty," one of the guards reported. "We will interrogate him, if you wish."

"No, you don't understand!" Anastasia cried, clinging to her father's arm. "It's nothing like that. He's my friend, Papa!"

The Tsar peered down at the boy with new eyes, following Anastasia's confession. Dmitry risked a glance up at the Emperor, but quickly lowered his gaze again. Trembling, he waited for the order to be given.

"Stand up, boy." The Tsar did not say it meanly, but Dmitry scrambled to obey. He stood at attention, still not meeting the tsar's eye, and wishing he could at least beat some of the dirt off his pants. "What is your name?"

"Dmitry, sir," he said quickly. The tsar made a _go on_ motion with his hand. "Dmitry Ivanovich Turov."

"How old are you?"

"Ten, sir."

"How did you come to meet my daughter, Dmitry?"

"It was my fault, Papa." Anastasia jumped in before Dmitry even had time to think. "I snuck out of the palace on my own one day. I'm sorry, Papa, I know I shouldn't have. I got lost, and Dmitry helped me find my way back. He always makes sure I get back safe." Dmitry nodded mutely, making a mental note to thank her later for not selling him out.

"Always? How many times have you snuck out?"

"I dunno," Anastasia said, looking down and scuffing her shoe against the ground. "A couple of times."

"Where are your parents, boy?" the Tsar asked, and Dmitry's insides twisted painfully. "Surely they must be missing you about now."

Dmitry lowered his gaze. "I- I don't have parents, your majesty. They both died a while ago."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Anastasia's head whip around to face him. "You never told me that, Dmitry," she murmured. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, and instead dared to glance up at the Tsar again. The Tsar's gaze had softened, and he looked at him with a mixture of pity and compassion.

"Come," he said, holding his arm out. "You'll have dinner with us tonight as thanks for ensuring my daughter returned safely."

For a second Dmitry couldn't move. He didn't quite trust his ears. Had he really been invited into the palace? The guards on either side of him seemed to be stunned too, and Anastasia was beaming at him, so he supposed he must have heard correctly. He took a few stiff steps forward, and the Tsar curled a protective arm around his shoulders.

"Thank you, Papa," Anastasia said, still hanging onto her father's arm. Her father peered down his nose at her, a single eyebrow raised, and she quickly let go.

"Don't think you've gotten off the hook, Nastya," the tsar said, and Anastasia had at least the good sense to look remorseful. "I don't know what you were thinking, sneaking out of the palace. You could have been hurt, or worse."

The three of them walked in silence after that. It was a strange feeling, being led up to a palace by the Tsar himself. He still had an arm around Dmitry's shoulders, which was making Dmitry feel a bit panicky. He knew the Tsar meant him no harm, but it felt almost claustrophobic and he had the strong urge to shake the Tsar's arm off and run. Ahead, the palace loomed above him, its windows glowing in the early evening.

"My darling!" the Tsarina exclaimed as they entered, rushing forward to hug Anastasia. Anastasia hugged her mother back, still looking a bit guilty. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Mama, I promise." The Tsarina moved as if to pull away, but Anastasia clung to her as she had her father a few minutes ago. Dmitry stood as still as possible, hardly daring to breathe. He felt vastly out of place even barely through the door of the palace, and there was no doubt he was underdressed.

"And who is this?" the Tsarina asked, finally noticing Dmitry standing with the Tsar. Dmitry tried to shrink back under her gaze, but the Tsar gently nudged him forward.

"I've invited this young man to have dinner with us tonight," the Tsar said. "Apparently our little _shvibzik_ has been sneaking out, and he has made sure she got back home safely." The Tsarina was finally able to pry Anastasia off of her, and gave her a look that Dmitry never wanted to be on the receiving side of. It appeared that Anastasia was used to getting looks as that one, though, because she hardly flinched.

"Come," the Tsarina said, holding her hand out to Dmitry. Her expression was back to normal, and was actually very kind and welcoming. She rested her hand on his upper back and began guiding him to the dining room. Dmitry couldn't help but be awed at the grandeur of the palace. Of course, he'd seen it from a distance his entire life, but nothing could have prepared him for the magnificence of it all. It seemed like every surface sparkled, and the size of it alone was intimidating. Portraits of harsh families lined the walls, staring down at them.

"You'll eat in here with the girls and Alexei," the Tsar said, and it took Dmitry a second to realize the Tsar was talking to him. He nodded quickly, and the Tsar turned to his wife. "Alix, if I may have a word? There's something I'd like to discuss with you." They turned to go, and Anastasia grabbed Dmitry's hand, leading him over to the table. Three older girls were already there, and they looked up in surprise at the new addition to their meal.

"Who is this?" the most beautiful girl asked, looking at him quizzically. Dmitry immediately wished he was better dressed. There was no doubt in his mind that they were all judging him by his tattered clothes.

"Wait, I recognize you!" said the girl who looked closest to his age. "You're the boy from the parade earlier, the one who bowed."

"Uh, yeah. That was me," he said.

"He has a name, you know," Anastasia said obnoxiously. "Come on, Dmitry, you can sit next to me." Dmitry followed her mutely, acutely aware of the other three girls staring at him as he sat down. He eyed the number of utensils skeptically; would they expect him to know which fork to use for what? He hadn't even been aware one person could use more than one fork during one meal.

"Where's Alexei?" Anastasia asked, looking around at her siblings.

"Maybe he snuck out too," one of her sisters said. Another sister giggled and Anastasia glowered at both of them.

"I think he was upstairs," said another sister. "He'll probably be on his way down now."

As if on cue, a tall man entered the room pushing a small boy in a wheelchair. The boy, Alexei, Dmitry presumed, looked tremendously excited about something, though he couldn't stop himself from staring when he saw Dmitry sitting at the table with his sisters. Anastasia rushed to explain his presence before he could make a big deal about it, and the boy seemed to be more accepting of his presence than the girls had seemed. Finally, the food was brought out and laid in front of them. Dmitry felt like his eyes were bugging out of his head. He had never seen so much food in one place before, and what food he had seen hadn't smelled nearly as good as this.

"So, Dmitry," one of the older sisters said, "Why are you here?"

"Olga!" gasped the sister who had recognized Dmitry. "That's rude."

The sister named Olga shrugged. "I was only asking a question," she said blithely. "I was curious."

"He's here because Papa invited him," Anastasia huffed, pushing her food around with her fork. "Anyway, I don't see why it matters. We have guests at dinner all the time."

"Yeah, but those guests are other nobles," said the beautiful sister. "Your friend isn't."

"Well why does he have to be?" Anastasia demanded hotly, leaping to her feet.

The sister who had recognized him turned to face him. "Don't mind Tatiana," she said with a smile. "She's always this blunt with everyone except Baby." Dmitry only nodded, trying to ignore the fact that Anastasia was about to argue with her sisters over him.

"Maybe I should just go," he said quietly, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible.

"Don't be stupid," Olga said. "You've hardly eaten anything, and Lord knows you look like you need it."

"Besides, I think Mama and Papa were talking about you," Alexei interjected, catching everyone's attention.

"What?" Tatiana said.

"Oh, yeah," the boy continued, his face alight with excitement. "I heard them talking on the way down here. They said something about keeping a peasant boy."

"Keeping him?" Olga cried. Tatiana, too, looked scandalized. "What do you mean 'keeping' him?"

"You must have heard them wrong, Alyosha," Anastasia said.

"I did not!" Alexei sat up a little straighter in his wheelchair, his face scrunched up in anger. "I know what I heard! Papa said he wanted to keep him to keep me company!" All four grand duchesses turned to stare at Dmitry, who immediately wanted to sink into the floor. Anastasia alone was smiling at him.

"Well I think it's a great idea," she said loudly. Dmitry tried to smile back at her, but he was sure it looked more like a grimace.

"Well of course _you_ think it's a great idea," Tatiana said, rolling her eyes.

"I think it might be nice too!" chirped the sister who had recognized him. "It could be fun having someone new around."

"Don't tell me you've already got a crush on him, Maria," Olga teased her. Maria immediately scowled at Olga and crossed her arms.

"I think I should get a say," Alexei said imperiously. "After all, whoever they choose will be _my_ friend, not yours."

"Whoever they choose will be around all of us all the time," Tatiana explained to her brother with an air of impatience.

Dmitry, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the siblings' squabbling, was immensely relieved when the Tsar and Tsarina entered the room, though the royal children didn't notice at first. He wondered what the scene in the dining room might look like to them, with all the children yelling at each other and Anastasia looking like she was ready to jump across the table at her two oldest sisters. Their parents, however, didn't look the slightest bit surprised at their children's behavior and Dmitry had to wonder if this was a common occurrence in their household.

"Papa!" Maria said brightly, finally noticing her parents. The other four children fell silent and Anastasia hurriedly sat down again. "Is it true? Is Dmitry staying?"

"Never you mind," the Tsar said. "Dmitry, would you mind if we had a word with you?"

Dmitry stood and walked slowly over to the Tsar, though his heart pounded harder with every step. He was sure everyone in the room could hear it as he was lead from the room.

* * *

Dmitry wasn't surprised when Anastasia came to find him later that night. He was in a guest room for the time being, but was told that as soon as they could, they would move him to a chamber off of the tsarevich's room. He had been told of the Tsarevich's affliction and how easily it could be aggravated. He was to be a companion to the boy, someone who could make sure he didn't hurt himself and keep him company when he did.

He was also assured that no matter what Alexei said, he couldn't fire him. Dmitry was officially employed by the Tsar and Tsarina, though his salary was minimal. Dmitry didn't mind; what need did he have for a lot of money now that he was to going to live in the palace? He'd already been given new clothes, food, and a place to sleep. Their generosity unnerved him a bit, but he assumed that they would do the same for any companion to their son. They couldn't have a ratty street urchin be seen with the heir to the Russian throne.

Dmitry had just changed into his new pajamas and was about to go to sleep when there was a quiet knock on his door. Unsure of what to do, he hesitated before opening it the tiniest bit.

"Quick, let me in," Anastasia hissed to him through the crack. "I'm not supposed to be out of bed." He opened the door wide, and she darted in, closing the door almost silently behind her.

"If you're supposed to be in bed, then why are you here?" he asked. "Aren't you afraid you'll get caught?"

"I snuck out of the palace for a whole year and didn't get caught until today," she grinned. "I think I'll be fine."

"Yeah, but what happens if you are caught tonight, then? You've already been caught once today; can you imagine how mad your parents will be if you're caught again?"

"If I get caught, then I'll eat my own shoe," she said with a wave of her hand. "Besides, if I'm caught sneaking around, it can't be too much of a shock to Mama and Papa." Dmitry smiled in spite of himself. He still thought she shouldn't be sneaking around the palace when she shouldn't be, but he had a feeling she would be able to talk her way out of just about anything.

"Anyway, I wanted to come see how you were settling in," she said, settling herself on the foot of his temporary bed.

"I'm okay, I guess," he said, shrugging. "It's definitely different from what I'm used to."

"Yeah, I guess it is," Anastasia said with a small laugh. "You never did tell me where you lived before."

"It's not important," he said.

"But-"

"Please, just drop it," he said, turning to face her. "Let's just say it's a place I won't miss even the tiniest bit." Anastasia was silent for a moment as she nodded.

"I should probably get back to my room," she said, hopping off his bed. "But Dmitry? I hope one day you'll trust me enough to tell me. You're kind of my best friend, after all."


	4. Chapter 4

_This chapter is going to be more of a filler chapter than anything. There's going to be a lot of time jumps, and then next chapter is when the main part of the story gets going. Also, fun fact, this chapter is literally 13 pages in the word document I have._

* * *

 _1909_

Adjusting to life in the palace was confusing. There were so many new rules Dmitry had to learn and memorize all of a sudden, and he struggled to keep up. For example, he couldn't turn his back to any of the royals. This was partially because it was a sign of disrespect, no matter how close you were to the family, and partially because Anastasia had a penchant for jumping on him if he wasn't paying attention. The first few times she did it nearly knocked him off his feet which she, of course, found hilarious.

A lot of the time he found he couldn't keep up with conversations. The siblings had a habit of chattering to each other in different languages, ones Dmitry had never learned. All four grand duchesses often spoke English to each other in private, and Anastasia and Maria loved to show off how fluent they were in French. Dmitry had only even spoken Russian before, though he was starting to pick up words in English. Not enough to have a conversation, but enough to know they were talking about him when they said the word "idiot". He wasn't sure what it meant exactly; perhaps it was a nickname.

He was supposed to stay practically glued to the Tsarevich's side, though that was often easier said than done. Alexei, as it turned out, also had a rebellious streak in him. It was nowhere near as famous as his sister's, but it was enough to cause problems for Dmitry. He was surprisingly nimble, despite being confined to a wheelchair a lot of the time, and liked to send Dmitry on errands and then hide. Dmitry had never liked younger kids much, and the Tsarevich was only reinforcing that opinion.

The two eldest Romanov siblings mostly ignored him, which he thought was just fine. But it surprised him how energetic and child-like they still seemed to be. Olga and Tatiana were perfectly behaved when it counted, such as during lessons and state affairs. But the second they were no longer expected to act like little ladies, there would be a wild scramble through the palace that the younger three inevitably joined.

With his new responsibilities came a degree of freedom. When Alexei was doing his lessons, Dmitry was free to do whatever he pleased. More often than not he ended up wandering around the palace and the yards around it, trying to get acclimated to his new surroundings. Sometimes Anastasia was free at the same time he was, and she loved to act as his tour guide. Her idea of a tour was much different from his, he learned, when she took him around and showed him all the good places to hide when you were in trouble and which trees were the best to climb.

Anastasia wasn't the only one who sought him out. It hadn't taken Dmitry long to figure out that Maria was the kindest of all the siblings, and she was the most welcoming of him, next to Anastasia. She often asked him questions about his past because she genuinely wanted to know more about him. She was the one who began calling him Mitya, something that the rest of the siblings, except Anastasia, quickly picked up.

If he was being honest, though, part of Dmitry missed living on the streets. Sure, he'd been cold and hungry a lot of the time, but he had been free to do whatever his heart desired.

"What's up with you?" Anastasia asked him one day when she found him sitting under a tree in the Imperial gardens. He'd been hoping to hide out there until the Tsarevich was done with school, but was thoroughly unsurprised that Anastasia had come looking for him.

"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to sound as clueless as possible.

"You're not fooling anyone, Dmitry," Anastasia said, flopping down on the ground beside him and kicking her shoes off. "I know something's bothering you, I just can't figure out what it is." Dmitry was ready to deny it, but he remembered what Anastasia had said about him being her best friend. He'd never really had a best friend before, but he imagined that Anastasia behaved like one to him. He guessed that made her his best friend too.

"I guess I just miss the streets a little," he muttered, kicking at a pebble. He was embarrassed to admit it to her when her parents had been so kind to him.

"I thought you said you wouldn't miss it?" Anastasia asked.

"I don't. But I do," he said, furrowing his brow. "It's complicated."

"Well, I have plenty of time," she said, letting herself fall backward.

Dmitry didn't speak right away, and Anastasia didn't press him further. He was grateful for that, though he was a little suspicious about her being so nice to him. In the year since meeting her, he learned enough about her to know that this was out of character for her.

"I think I just miss having my own life," Dmitry finally said.

"What do you mean?"

"Out on the streets I could do what I wanted, when I wanted," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Here, it's like everything is controlled for me, and I'm expected to serve someone else at a moment's notice. I don't think your brother even likes me." Anastasia rolled her eyes and sat up.

"You can be so blind, you know that?" she said, back to her usual self. Dmitry was about to retort when she stopped him. "Alexei likes you. Trust me. He just thinks it's funny when you get flustered."

"Well, that's mean."

"He's five, and he's the youngest. What did you expect?"

"I don't know," Dmitry scowled. "I never had a brother. Or a sister."

"Oh," Anastasia breathed. They were both very aware that it was the first time Dmitry had brought up the subject of his family since the night he came to live in the palace.

"My mom died when I was young," he said. "I hardly remember her at all. For the longest time, I didn't even know she'd died. It seemed like one day she was there and then next, she wasn't."

"Dmitry, you don't have-"

"My father died about a year and a half ago," he continued, ignoring her. "He was in a labor camp because he didn't believe the country should be governed by a monarchy. I've been on my own since."

"How did you live?" Anastasia asked, completely entranced by his story.

"I did what I had to," he said with a shrug. "You caught me trying to steal from you, that should give you an idea. Anyway, there are plenty of kids like me. Maybe not all the same situations, but all orphans trying to get by."

"I didn't know that," she said, lying back down.

"I don't see why you would," he said.

"Well, thank you for telling me."

* * *

 _1911_

Anastasia slumped sideways in the chair she was forced to sit on, leaning her head against the wall. She was so furious she wanted to cry. It wasn't like she'd _meant_ to hurt Dmitry. All she'd meant to do was hit him with a snowball.

Okay, so there had been a rock rolled in the snowball. It still was an accident. Anastasia had thought the snow would cushion it, considering how much snow she had used. She hadn't thought the rock would actually hit whoever she threw it at. And he had been such an easy target, pulling her brother around in his sled.

She could still see Dmitry dropping to the ground, clutching his forehead, could still hear his screaming. Even Tatiana and Olga had been concerned about him as they watched his blood stain the snow red. He'd been taken to Dr. Botkin while Mama and Papa had scolded her. Then they'd marched her back into the palace and now she was being forced to sit in the corner of her father's study and wait for her punishment.

It felt like hours had gone by when the door opened again, and Papa lead Dmitry in. His forehead was bandaged, making his hair stick up a bit. Immediately Anastasia jumped up from her chair.

"I'm so sorry, Dmitry," she said, stumbling over her words. "I didn't mean to hurt you!" Dmitry only shrugged and didn't meet her eye. Anastasia felt a new wave of guilt wash over her.

The Tsar cleared his throat, and both children looked up at him. "Anastasia, I'm very disappointed in you."

"I know," she said, lowering her gaze.

"I thought you knew better," he continued. "You could have seriously injured Dmitry. And what if you'd missed and hit Alexei?"

"I _know_ ," she said a little more forcefully, and immediately regretted it.

"I'm fine, sir," Dmitry said. "I didn't even need stitches-"

"I know, Dmitry, and I'm glad," the Tsar said. "But that's not the point. Anastasia has to learn to think before she acts."

"But Papa-"

"No buts." The Tsar looked terrible in his anger, and both children looked down. "Anastasia, you're becoming a young lady. You have to start acting like one. Your sisters never got into such trouble when they were your age."

"I said I was sorry," she tried to insist.

"And I believe you are," her father said, his gaze softening a little. "But I'm not sure sorry is going to cut it this time. I'm going to have you stay here next week when Maria visits your grandmother."

"No, please, Papa!" Anastasia cried, rushing forward to hug her father. "Please, I want to go. I haven't seen Nana in such a long time!"

"I really am fine-"

"There will be no arguments," the Tsar said in what the children called his no-nonsense voice. "I'm sorry Anastasia, but maybe you'll remember this the next time you're about to do something reckless. There will be plenty of times to visit Nana again."

Anastasia was sent to her room, where she would stay for the rest of the afternoon. They could hear her wailing all the way down the hall, and the Tsar shook his head.

"You're free to go too, Dmitry," he said, sitting down at his desk.

"Does Alexei need anything, sir?" he asked. The Tsar smiled the tiniest bit.

"Don't you worry about that for now, my son will understand," the Tsar said. "Just go rest. I'll have someone bring some ice for your head."

Dmitry nodded and left the study. Truth be told, he felt perfectly fine besides a small ache where the rock had hit him. While it had been a nasty cut and would most likely leave a scar, he was told there wouldn't be any lasting damage. He didn't particularly feel like resting. As he passed Anastasia and Maria's room, he heard a delicate tinkling noise. He recognized it after a second as a music box, but didn't recognize the song.

"Anastasia?" he called quietly, knocking on the door. He got no answer, but the door creaked open at his touch. Anastasia was lying on her camp bed, curled on her side. She was still sniffling, though not outright sobbing like she had been before. In her hands was a beautifully decorated music box, one he had never seen before. Even from the doorway he could see two tiny figurines spinning in the center.

"It's my Nana's lullaby," Anastasia said, though she didn't look up at him. "She gave this to me three years ago so I wouldn't miss her so much."

"Oh," Dmitry said. He stepped further into the room despite not being invited, wanting to get a closer look at the music box. He imagined it must be worth hundreds, if not thousands. It even had tiny pearls inlaid against the gold borders.

"It's been so long since I've seen her," she continued. "Three whole years. I didn't even know you, the last time I saw her."

"I'm sure there will be other times you can visit her," Dmitry said. "Maybe she'll even come here again." Anastasia sniffled closed the lid, and the melody stopped. Laying it to the side, she stood and walked over to him. Up close he could see that her eyes were still red and her cheeks a bit splotchy.

"I really am sorry," she said, and he believed her. To his astonishment, he found he wasn't even mad at her anymore.

"And I'm sorry you can't go see your grandmother," he replied. "I wasn't hurt badly at all, it hardly even stings anymore." Anastasia reached up, quick as a flash, and put the tiniest amount of pressure on the bandage. Dmitry yelped at the sudden searing pain above his eyebrow and jumped away from her.

"What was that for?" he demanded, curling a hand protectively over the bandage. He took it all back, he was very mad at her and thought she deserved every bit of her punishment.

Anastasia shrugged. "I figured you were lying to me to make me feel better. Turns out I was right."

Dmitry spun on his heel, not caring about turning his back on her, and stomped from the room.

* * *

 _1912_

Anastasia crept closer to her brother's bed. He laid so still and was so pale that for a second she was scared he'd already died. But Mama was still there, holding his hand and smoothing his hair, so he must still be alive.

 _'For now,'_ the nasty voice in her head nagged. Anastasia shook her head, banishing it to the furthest corner of her mind. She couldn't afford to think that way.

Dmitry appeared in the doorway behind her, carrying a bowl of ice water and a towel. Though they didn't say anything to each other, the glance they shared told Anastasia enough. Alexei had not improved, and his temperature was still high. Anastasia scrambled closer to her mother, who showed no sign that she knew Anastasia was there.

Dmitry gingerly replaced the towel on Alexei's forehead with a fresh cold one, terrified to touch any part of the sick boy in case he accidentally hurt him more. Logically he knew that simply touching him wouldn't make things worse, but with the Tsarevich in such a desperate state Dmitry didn't want to take any risks. This was the first time Alexei had been seriously injured that he had been present for. There had been smaller bumps and bruises before, but nothing as life-threatening as this.

Dmitry unconsciously touched the small Y-shaped scar above his eyebrow; getting that scar had hurt enough, he couldn't even imagine how much pain Alexei must be in right now.

"Your majesty," Dr. Botkin whispered, bowing his head toward the empress. She looked up slowly. "I'm told Father Grigori is arriving soon."

Dmitry nearly dropped the bowl, earning him a stern glance from the doctor. He rushed to pick up the ice that had spilled from the bowl, glad for the semi-darkness in the room that hid his burning cheeks. He was supposed to be thankful that Rasputin was coming, but he hoped he would be allowed to leave soon.

Though Rasputin had never been anything but kind to Dmitry, he couldn't help but be creeped out by him. He wasn't sure what it was that rubbed him the wrong way, and none of the royal family seemed to feel the same way. The Grand Duchesses sometimes even called him "Uncle Grigori". And somehow, he always managed to help Alexei when he was sick or injured. So while Dmitry sincerely hoped he could somehow pull off another miracle and bring the Tsarevich back from this, he wasn't eager to sit around and watch.

None of them were entirely sure how much time had passed when Rasputin finally arrived. Dmitry had his back turned toward the door, but he knew exactly when he appeared. The Tsarina straightened up a bit, and looked away from her son, and Anastasia peeked out from around her mother, a small smile on her face. Dmitry didn't turn, instead opting to switch out the cold towels again.

"Thank you for coming," the Tsarina said in the hushed tones that everyone seemed to instinctively use around Alexei's sickbed.

"I will do what I can," Rasputin replied. He came to stand next to Dmitry, who looked up. The man offered him a polite smile and a nod, which Dmitry tried to return. Rasputin placed a hand on Dmitry's shoulder as he looked over Alexei.

"Thank you, my boy, for taking such good care of our young friend," Rasputin said, turning to look at Dmitry again.

"Oh, no, it was mostly Dr. Botkin," Dmitry protested, squirming a bit. He didn't feel right getting praise for someone else's work, though Dr. Botkin didn't seem to care.

"Don't be so modest," Rasputin laughed. "I've heard lots of stories about you, Dmitry. You do not have an easy job." Dmitry was unsure of what to say in response, but it didn't matter because Rasputin turned away from him, finally taking his hand off of his shoulder, and studied Alexei again. He made the sign of the cross above the boy's body, then turned to the rest of the room.

"I will work now," he announced, "but I need peace and quiet. I will have to ask everyone but the Empress to leave us."

Both Dmitry and Anastasia couldn't see how much quieter the room could get, but they obeyed without a word. As she left, Anastasia glanced back over her shoulder at her brother before the door was closed behind them.

"Do you think he'll die?" Anastasia asked in a small voice.

Dmitry grabbed her hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "I don't know," he said truthfully. "I hope not."

"Me too," she said. "I don't know what I'd do without him."

Dmitry swallowed hard. It was something he'd thought about a lot over the past week and a half since the tsarevich's condition worsened. Obviously, he'd be horrified if the boy died, having grown to be friends with him as well. He would absolutely miss Alexei and the fun they'd had. But if Alexei did die, what would that mean for him? Would he be forced to leave the palace? Where would he go? It had been three years since he'd had to fend for himself, and if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that he didn't want to have to go back to that life.

* * *

 _1913_

"Checkmate," Alexei said in a bored voice. "I win again." Dmitry huffed a sigh and tipped his king over with one finger.

The family was at Livadia once again, but Alexei's joints had been swollen and painful the entire time so far, so he and Dmitry were forced to stay indoors. They could hear the girls outside laughing with delight, and Alexei's face grew dark.

"It's not fair," he said wistfully. "I wish I could play outside too."

"I know," Dmitry said. Outside, one of the girls shrieked, followed by louder laughter. "I could tell you another story," he offered half-heartedly.

"I think at this point you've told me all the stories you know, Mitya," Alexei said with a small laugh. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I could recite them all."

"Probably," Dmitry agreed. "Besides, Anastasia's better at telling stories than I am."

"Yeah, but that's because she makes everything up as she goes along," Alexei said. "That's why it's so fun. You never know where the story is going to go."

Dmitry got up to look out the window. He could see all four of the grand duchesses on the beach; even from here it was obvious that one was completely drenched. Dmitry wondered what had happened.

"I miss swimming," Alexei said. "I used to go all the time, but Mama hardly lets me go anymore. She hardly lets me do anything."

"Well what she doesn't know won't hurt her, right?" Dmitry said, turning back to the Tsarevich with a smile. Alexei's face blanched.

"Oh no," he said. "I know that look. You look like Nastya when she's about to play a trick on someone."

"Come on, I'm taking you to the beach," Dmitry said, grabbing the wheelchair from the corner of the room. "Live a little. It will be fun."

"But what about Mama? And Papa?" Alexei glanced nervously at the doorway as if his parents would magically appear there and put a stop to this plan.

Dmitry shrugged. "If we get caught, we'll tell them we were just going for a walk," he said. "They'll never know the difference." Alexei still looked worried, but he allowed Dmitry to help him into the wheelchair.

Dmitry pushed the chair down the halls as quickly as he dared without hurting Alexei, the two of them giggling and shushing each other the entire way. Neither of them could believe their good luck when they made it out the front door without being caught. When they got to the edge of the sand Dmitry had to help Alexei back out of the chair. He supported most of the Tsarevich's weight as they made their way down the sand. Grinning in the sunlight, Alexei didn't look nearly as sickly as he did indoors.

"Look!" one of the girls cried as they approached. The three others grinned and waved, though their governess looked less than pleased to see the two boys. Now that they were closer Dmitry was unsurprised to see that Anastasia was the one soaked to the bone.

"What are you doing out here Alyosha?" Tatiana demanded, though she was grinning.

"It was Dmitry's idea," Alexei said as Dmitry lowered him to the sand. "We were bored and I wanted to be with you guys, so he snuck me out."

"You should be resting," their governess scolded them, though she made no move to bring them back to the palace.

"I can rest out here," Alexei said, laying back on the sand. Already the warmth was making his joints a little less painful.

All of them spent the rest of the day on the beach, enjoying the bright summer sun. Maria and Olga stayed with Dmitry and Alexei building a sand castle, and Anastasia managed to wrestle Tatiana into the ocean until her older sister was almost as waterlogged as she was. Dmitry knew it was going to be next to impossible to sneak Alexei back in undetected, but he was willing to accept that punishment.

* * *

 _1914_

He hadn't meant to startle Tatiana so much, but Dmitry couldn't help but think that she was asking for it the tiniest bit. She had been sitting on the wide sill of the big window in the library, all but hidden by the curtain he'd pulled aside looking for Alexei. She had shrieked, startling Dmitry, who yelled in fright as well.

"Mitya!" she breathed, pressing a hand to her heart. "Don't scare me like that!"

"I'm so sorry," he said, bowing low. "I didn't realize you were there."

"You don't have to bow to me," she said with an edge to her voice. "You should know that by now."

Dmitry did know that, but he still felt very intimidated by the two oldest imperial children. They always seemed so regal and mature to him, even though he'd witnessed first-hand how energetic and wild they were in their younger years. They were both older now, though, and much more intimidating too. He would rather spend time with the younger three siblings, who he knew on a much more personal level.

"What were you even doing behind there?" he asked.

"I was reading," Tatiana said, holding up the book that had been on her lap. "This is my favorite place to read, because usually no one bothers me here." The title of the book was in a language Dmitry couldn't read, but he nodded anyway.

"I was looking for Alexei," he said to explain. "He wanted to play hide and seek, and I thought he might hide here."

"Oh no," Tatiana said, shaking her head with a small smile. "He usually hides under a bed or in a closet."

"Oh," was all Dmitry could think to say as he tried to make a mental list of all the beds and closets in the palace. "I guess I should go look for him." He turned to walk away and leave Tatiana in peace.

"Dmitry?" Tatiana swung her legs down from the sill and put the book aside. "Can I ask you something?"

"Uh, yeah," he said, turning back. Tatiana had her head tilted to one side and was staring at him with a curious look on her face.

"What do the people of Russia think of my family?"

"Sorry?" he stammered. It was probably the last question he was expecting, and he wasn't quite sure how to answer.

"I've heard rumors," she said quietly. "And I found some articles from newspapers. The people who wrote them weren't very kind to my father or my mother. I was wondering what you heard about us before you came to live here?" Dmitry hesitated for a second.

"How much do you know of my past?" Dmitry asked her slowly. He knew that Alexei and Anastasia both knew his story well at this point, and all the siblings were close to each other. But he wasn't sure if they had shared that with their siblings or felt it was his to share.

"Not much," she admitted, looking a bit sheepish. "And I am sorry about that. At first I never asked because I didn't want you here, and then by the time I was curious you had been with us for a while. I thought it would be rude to ask."

"What do you know, then?"

"I know that you were an orphan living on the streets. Somehow you met my sister, and when Papa met you he felt bad for you. He said that if it had been his child all alone and starving, he'd want someone to show them kindness and mercy, so he found an excuse to let you stay." Dmitry bit his lip and nodded.

"Well, you're not entirely wrong," he said. "I was an orphan when Anastasia found me. But I hadn't been an orphan for long. Before that, my father took care of me. We didn't have much, but somehow we always had enough. When he died I was heartbroken."

"What happened?"

"He was an anarchist," he said carefully, suddenly very aware that he was talking to the daughter of a tsar. "It wasn't that he wanted to overthrow the government entirely, though. He just thought that no one was born better than someone else." Tatiana nodded thoughtfully, and Dmitry wondered if he shouldn't have told her so much. When she didn't say anything, he continued.

"He spoke out about his beliefs, and maybe he was reckless about it. There were some who agreed with him, and all of them were sent to a work camp." Dmitry lowered his eyes. "I loved my father, but sometimes I wish he hadn't spoken out about his beliefs."

"It must have been very hard on you," Tatiana said quietly, touching his arm. Dmitry looked up in surprise. When had she come to stand next to him?

"It was," he admitted, "but everyone knew that's what happened when you challenged the government. I don't really know what people think now, but when I was on my own I know that a lot of people were afraid of the power your family holds. And a lot of the time that fear turned to anger."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Tatiana said, pulling her hand back. "If I show you something, will you promise not to tell anyone?" Dmitry nodded.

Tatiana opened her book and pulled out a folded piece of newspaper. It didn't look very old, but Dmitry wondered how long she'd kept it hidden. She unfolded the paper and handed it to him, not meeting his eye. On it was a crude picture of the Tsarina and Rasputin, and Dmitry found he couldn't look at it for very long without becoming disgusted with whoever had drawn in. He knew the Tsar and his wife weren't the perfect monarchs, but they didn't deserve this. He crumpled the paper in his fist.

"Why do you even have this?" he asked through his teeth.

"I don't know," Tatiana said. "I know I shouldn't have kept it. I already destroyed any other copies I could find."

"Good."

"Why do they hate us?" she asked, though she knew Dmitry couldn't give her a real answer. For the first time that Dmitry could remember, Tatiana looked completely vulnerable. She was not a grand duchess concerned about her appearance, but simply a daughter worried about her family.

"I wish I knew."

* * *

 _1916_

Anastasia couldn't remember the palace ever being this dark and gloomy ever before, even counting the times they thought Alexei might die. This darkness was oppressive and all-encompassing. She didn't know how their family would get through this.

They had gotten word a few days ago that Rasputin, Uncle Grigory to the girls, had gone missing. She remembered the worry that had gripped her and her sisters by the throats. With Papa and Alexei almost always at the front lines of the war, it was important that Rasputin could be called upon in the case of an emergency. And now, finally, they had learned of his fate.

Mama had written to Papa right away, demanding that Alexei be brought back home where they all could keep a close watch over him.

Anastasia sat by one of the front windows, her eyes glued on the gate. She, like her mother and sisters, would feel much better once their family was all together again. It truly felt like one of their relatives had died, and she was sure that once she could see that her immediate family was alright she wouldn't feel so anxious. Plus she hadn't seen Papa or Alexei for months, now, and she couldn't wait to be reunited with her brother.

Finally, after hours of waiting by the window, she saw their carriage make its way up to the palace. Anastasia was up and running in a flash, shouting for her sisters. She ran out of the palace as that carriage door opened and her father stepped out. She flung herself into his arms, not unlike the way she used to in her younger years, and hugged him tight.

"Welcome home, Papa," she said into his coat. "I'm forbidding you to ever leave again." Her Papa chuckled and kissed her head, then pulled back as her sisters ran out to greet him. Behind him, Alexei hopped down from the carriage.

"Alyosha!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to hug her brother. "You've gotten taller!"

"I have?" he said, looking a bit bewildered.

"A few inches, at least," she said, nodding.

"What about me?" Dmitry asked, hopping down after Alexei, a bag slung over his shoulder. After months of not seeing her best friend, it was like she was seeing him for the first time. At seventeen he had grown tall and had lost what little puppy fat he'd had left. Even Anastasia had to admit he was growing to be quite handsome, and she was sure he'd have his pick of women if he ever decided to show an interest in romance.

"Oh no," Anastasia insisted. "If anything, I think you've gotten shorter."

"Please," Dmitry said, rolling his eyes. "You just want everyone to be as short as you." She stuck her tongue out at him as they were all herded back indoors.

Tea was prepared for them as they sat in the dining room and caught up with one another. As much as they were all glad to be reunited once again, the gloomy mood never lifted. The war, the unrest in the streets and now the death of Rasputin had everyone worried. After tea Dmitry walked with Alexei up to his room, carrying both of their bags.

"I'm worried about what will happen now," Alexei admitted to Dmitry. "What happens if I get hurt again? Our friend won't be there to help me."

"I guess that's what you've got me for," Dmitry said. "I know I can't exactly heal people, but I can make sure you don't get hurt in the first place." Alexei frowned and shook his head.

"It would have been better if I'd never been born," he said bitterly, his eyebrows furrowed. "Everyone's lives would be easier. Mama and Papa wouldn't have to worry so much."

"Hey," Dmitry said, grabbing Alexei's arm. "Don't say that. Don't even think it."

"Well it's true," the younger boy said. Dmitry shook his head.

"If you hadn't been born, I would have still been living on the streets," he reminded him. "Maybe I'd even be dead. I know it's not a lot, but my life is better because you're here, and don't you forget it."


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello all you lovely people! I just wanted to give you a quick update before I disappear for a little while. I'm going to St. Louis for a national conference, and I'm super super excited about it. Once I get back though, I'm going to have to play catch up with a lot of schoolwork, so I might not update for a week or two._

 _Anyway, the main part of the story starts with this chapter. I should probably warn you that it's going to get a little darker here, given what happened to the actual Romanov family and I'm trying to keep it as historically accurate as possible. Buckle up kids!_

* * *

Anastasia didn't care one bit that she was "acting childish" as Tatiana had teased her earlier, she didn't want her Papa to return to the war. She'd shadowed her father around the palace all day, even going as far as unpacking what she could when he wasn't looking. He'd laughed a little at her, calling her his little _shvibzik_ again, and she'd let him write off her clinginess as a childish whim.

In truth, she was worried about her father's safety. Even she had noticed the new attitudes of the Russian people toward her father; how could she not? She thought she understood. The war was going nowhere, and supplies were spread thin. People were hungry and unhappy, and she didn't blame them for that. But she'd heard rumors from servants of riots in the streets. Her parents had tried to keep it from them, especially with Olga and Alexei getting sick, but Anastasia thought they all had a right to know.

And now, with her father leaving to go back to the war, she was worried about how safe he would be. How would they know if something terrible happened to him? Or worse, what if something did happen, and the Russian people came for them next?

"Please, Papa," she begged him once more, trailing behind him. "We need you here."

"But the country needs me more," he answered. Anastasia shook her head.

"But think about Olga and Alexei," she said. "And Mama, she'll have to take care of them by herself. Please stay. Just for a few more weeks."

"I'm sorry, Anastasia," he said sadly. "I must go. But how about this: I promise I will be back to visit in a few weeks. Maybe we'll all even take a vacation around Easter. I won't be gone as long this time, I promise."

It wasn't exactly what she was looking for, but even Anastasia knew a lost cause when she saw one. She nodded dejectedly, then left her father in peace. She supposed a few weeks wouldn't change much, and when Papa came back she would try again. For now, she would have to be content with that.

Dmitry couldn't believe how things had changed in just two months. Rasputin's death seemed to have sparked a fire in the Russian people that was refusing to go out. Everyone could feel the change, though many in the palace tried to pretend otherwise for the sake of the royal family. But in private, away from any of the family, they talked openly amongst themselves.

That's how he knew how bad the riots were getting, and how some regiments of the army were on the verge of mutiny. He didn't think the Tsar should return to the front lines either, but there was nothing anyone could say to convince him otherwise.

He found Anastasia watching wistfully from the window as her father's carriage pulled away. She was crying silently, and he knew he should have pretended not to see, turned, and let her have her privacy. But he could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen her cry, and suddenly she looked very much like the little girl he met on a bridge on an early summer day.

"Anastasia?" She jumped and turned, wiping her tears away hastily.

"Dmitry," she murmured, standing up. "I didn't hear you."

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, stepping closer. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Of course I'm not okay," she snapped, feeling guilty immediately after. She started to apologize, but Dmitry stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, cutting her off. She sagged against him, glad that she didn't have to pretend to be fine for him.

"He'll be back," he tried to reassure her.

"I'm so worried," she admitted. "What if he doesn't?"

Dmitry didn't have an answer for her. So instead he hugged his friend a little tighter. He couldn't remember the last time she'd allowed him to hug her like this. He imagined it must have been a while.

He regretted that in the past few years they hadn't been able to spend much time together. She had grown increasingly busy with her lessons, and he had gone with Alexei and Nicholas to the front lines of the war. She felt almost like a stranger to him now, though he still considered her his best friend.

He wondered suddenly when they had both grown up so much. The last seven years had changed all of them so much, and now he was nearing adulthood. He figured he would continue to be Alexei's companion until the tsarevich was an adult, but then what would become of him? He'd often wondered about that at night, as well as a handful of times when it seemed like Alexei wouldn't recover from an injury.

And Anastasia was becoming a beautiful, regal young princess. Naturally she still had her rebellious side, Dmitry doubted that would ever go away. Perhaps it was the sorrow that had plagued the palace in the past two months, but Anastasia seemed more subdued than normal. He wondered if it was a permanent thing that had been changing while he was away, or if she would become her normal self once again with time.

After a while Anastasia shook less and less until she wasn't shaking at all. Reluctantly, Dmitry pulled back. He had a good idea of what her mother would say if they were caught, no matter how platonic the gesture was. Anastasia straightened up, her composure regained, and turned slightly away from him. She wasn't sure why she suddenly felt so embarrassed in front of him. It was only Dmitry, her oldest, and only, friend besides her siblings. He had seen her cry before. In fact, she knew he had seen her much more distraught than this on a number of occasions, though she did have to admit that it had been years. She supposed it was simply because wasn't used to feeling so weak and powerless. She was the strong sister, the one who didn't shy away from anything. She hated the idea that anyone, even Dmitry, had seen her display any kind of weakness.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, though, Anastasia didn't have time to think about the war or the riots outside the palace. Dr. Botkin eventually diagnosed Olga and Alexei with measles, and Tatiana was forced to move into the Little Pair's room. Their mother stayed with her sick children, nursing them herself. Soon, though, Tatiana began showing signs of falling ill, and Maria and Anastasia followed not long after that.

Dmitry did his best to comfort the siblings and help the Tsarina as much as possible. He'd had the measles as a young child and didn't have to worry about catching the disease from them. Alexei in particular seemed to be having a rough time, as his joints were swollen and pained him again in addition to the rash that covered his body. He moaned constantly, complaining about the discomfort.

Dmitry often talked to the siblings, telling them of what went on in the palace and what he heard of the world outside. He knew that Olga, Tatiana, and Maria couldn't hear him, as they'd developed abscesses in their ears, and Anastasia and Alexei were too delirious to understand, but he talked anyway. Sometimes he told them stories his father used to tell him as a little boy, sometimes he told them of the harmless gossip he heard from the other servants. The day gunshots rang out, incredibly close to the palace, he told them stories of his past. Maria clung to his hand and asked why there was thunder if the sky was clear.

"Some of Nicky's advisors want us to evacuate," the Tsarina said in a soft voice, and it took Dmitry a second to realize she was talking to him. She looked up at him with a strangely blank expression. "They said it's becoming too dangerous for us here."

"But the soldiers outside-"

"The soldiers won't be able to hold off a mob," she said, gazing back down at her children. None of them appeared to be listening, too sick and delirious from fever. "There have been more riots, and people appear at the gates every day. If they chose to rise up, we would be at their mercy."

"Well then we have to leave!" Dmitry exclaimed, standing up.

"They are too sick." The Tsarina rested a hand on Alexei's forehead, whose eyes slowly opened but did not focus on his mother's face.

Dmitry stormed from the room in frustration. He wanted to understand why the Tsarina refused to do what was best for her family. Of course, he understood that moving the children while they were still so sick could be a bad idea, but they were sitting ducks in the palace. There were more gunshots and shouting outside the palace, and Dmitry felt sure that they were in more danger from the mobs than they were from the measles.

Crossing to the window, he was astonished at the number of people at the gates, waving their fists and clutching papers. Most were women, and even from here he could see that the soldiers were becoming uneasy. He wasn't sure what possessed him to leave the palace, but Dmitry found himself flying out the door and across the yard toward the fence. Outside, he could hear the chants about bread and ending the war.

"Get back, boy," a guard growled at him roughly, shoving him back. Dmitry skirted around him and climbed atop a bench.

"Please," he shouted over the noise, "calm down. The royal children are very ill and are frightened by the noise."

"Let them suffer!" a woman yelled back. "At least they are fed!"

"Get down from there!" A hand yanked Dmitry from the bench, and he landed awkwardly on his ankle. "Get back inside the palace, kid. We'll handle it out here." He was pushed in the direction of the palace doors. Dmitry ran as fast as he dared across the icy lawn and made a beeline for the kitchens. He gathered up all the bread he could find, ignoring the shouts of protest from the other servants.

"What do you think you're doing?" the cook said, looking scandalized.

"Someone has to do something about the mob," Dmitry said, gathering up whatever else he could carry. He wasn't even sure what food he was taking to the people; he only hoped it would appease them. "Start baking. They'll want more after this."

He charged back out to the gates and began distributing the food to the people assembled there. They clawed at him greedily, ripping the food from his hands and then shouting for more. Those who had been fortunate enough to grab something from him were mobbed as well, and Dmitry stood, horrified, watching the desperate turn against each other. Even when more bread was brought from the palace kitchens, the crowd didn't disperse. Dmitry couldn't imagine what would happen if the palace supplies ran out and prayed Nicholas would return soon.

* * *

But Nicholas didn't return at first. Days passed and brought news of more and more regiments mutinying against the Tsar, and the crowds outside the palace grew increasingly violent. Dmitry didn't dare try to reason with them again, and instead elected to help the kitchen staff however he could. They baked bread almost nonstop, and Dmitry was often in charge of bringing what they had to the guards outside so they could distribute it. But their supplies began to run low, too, within a few days.

Alexei, Tatiana and Olga were beginning to recover, but Anastasia was not and Maria had developed pneumonia. Both of them coughed constantly. Dmitry wished the Tsarina would at least agree to evacuate the three healthier children, but she refused to split her family up. She could no longer hide the grim truth from the three healthier siblings, though she told them not to speak of the revolutionaries in front of their sick sisters. Dmitry often sat with Anastasia and Maria while the Tsarina wrote letter after letter begging Nicholas to come home.

And then the rumors started reaching the palace. In the beginning was just whispers among the palace servants when none of the royal family was within earshot. Dmitry found he would often walk into a room and people would be huddled together looking at him, and at first he worried they were talking about him. He tried to brush it off as best he could. Then the soldiers and guards began talking amongst themselves, not bothering to shush each other when Dmitry wandered near. Then, finally, the crowds at the gates started chanting and yelling.

The tsar had abdicated and the monarchy was overthrown.

Dmitry couldn't believe his ears when Alexandra confirmed it to him in private. She told him only Olga knew so far, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she had to tell the other children. But Dmitry couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that Nicholas was no longer the ruler of the country. He had always seemed so convinced of his divine right to rule that he found it hard to believe he would give it up so easily. And on top of it all, no one had heard from Nicholas directly, though he had promised to return home soon.

When Alexandra finally did break the news to the rest of the children, she was met with yelling and disbelief. Maria wept openly, worried that the revolutionaries would come to take her mother away and not even Anastasia could console her. Alexei alone was quiet until Alexandra retreated to her room.

"What will happen now?" he asked quietly, turning to Dmitry and his sisters. "Are we going to be normal Russian citizens?"

"I don't think we'll be that lucky," Anastasia replied somberly.

"But what about my soldiers?" he said, clearly growing agitated. "What if I want to visit them and make sure they are all doing alright?"

"Don't you understand?" Olga said harshly. "Papa isn't the tsar anymore. You're not the tsarevich. We won't be allowed to do the things we used to anymore." All of her siblings seemed taken about by Olga's outburst. They knew she was prone to moodiness, but she had never snapped at Alexei like that before and it was unsettling.

"But if there's not a tsar anymore," Alexei asked slowly, looking at his sisters, "then who will govern Russia?"


	6. Chapter 6

_Hello! I have returned and caught up on my schoolwork! This isn't the longest chapter ever, but it was a good stopping point. Hope you guys like it!_

* * *

When word broke of the Tsar's abdication and the family's subsequent house arrest, many of the palace's staff fled. Only a few remained, including Dr. Botkin, a few ladies in waiting, and Dmitry. The phone lines were cut, and the palace's food supplies were dwindling. Dmitry's 18th birthday arrived and passed without much notice, and he didn't care at all. The old palace guards, those few who were still loyal to the former Tsar and his family, were forced to leave by decree of the provisional government. He had watched from an upstairs window as the new guards arrived and immediately made themselves at home in the palace. Dmitry had heard that they were entirely loyal to the revolutionaries, and that didn't bode well for the former imperial family.

Anastasia and Maria were still confined to their beds, though their temperatures were finally coming down. Olga, Tatiana and Alexei, however, had taken to hovering near the door during the day, adamant that they would be there to welcome their father home when he finally arrived. They spent long hours wandering from room to room near the front of the palace, talking quietly to each other in Russian.

Dmitry thought it was almost a little strange. He was so used to them chattering away in various languages to each other, but the new guards had told them they were only supposed to speak Russian now. They explained it as a nationalistic pride issue- good Russians should be proud of their language and heritage, but Dmitry suspected it was more that the guards wanted to be able to understand what the family was saying at all times. Now the only times they were permitted to speak other languages were during their lessons, which Alexandra stubbornly insisted they keep up with.

"What's the point?" Alexei whined to Dmitry one day. "We're never going to have to use those languages anymore. Who knows if they'll ever even let us leave this palace again?"

"You don't know that they won't," Dmitry said. "Maybe when your father comes back they'll decide to let us live in exile." He didn't really believe a word he was saying, though, and judging by the look on his face he wasn't fooling Alexei either.

"Who says the new government will let you live at all?" jeered a guard from the doorway. A few of them strode into the room, smirking at Dmitry and Alexei. "If I were in charge, you'd all be floating in the Neva by now."

"Please, they'd never let a troll like you lead a country," Alexei said coldly, and Dmitry sucked in a sharp breath. The guard strode over and grabbed Alexei by the shirt collar, hoisting him up. Dmitry leapt to his feet and grabbed the guard's arm, but was quickly restrained by another.

"Listen here, you pompous brat," the guard snarled in Alexei's face. "Your precious Papa isn't the Tsar anymore. You know what that means? You are just another citizen. In fact, I now outrank you, and you have to show me respect."

"Respect is earned, not blindly given," Alexei said evenly, never breaking eye contact with the guard. He was rewarded with a slap across the face, and his head snapped to the side. A flash of heat ran down Dmitry's spine as he worried about the guards causing another bleed.

"Don't you talk back to me, boy," the guard said as Alexei turned to glare at him again. "But you're right about one thing. Respect is earned, and your father never earned it from the people. It's all his fault you're here now. How does that feel? How does it feel to be nothing?" The other guards jeered and snickered, and Alexei finally looked away from the guard. Dmitry felt fury bubble up inside him. Even he had to admit that Nicholas had been a rather ineffectual Tsar, but his children were innocent. Dmitry managed to shake off the guard who was restraining him and shoved the guard holding Alexei, who dropped Alexei's collar and stumbled back a step.

"Hey ugly," Dmitry growled at the guard. "Leave the kid alone, he has nothing to do with any of this and you know it. Pick on someone your own size."

"Like you?" the guard sneered at him. "What are you going to do about it, boy? You're basically the family's lap dog." The guards laughed at him, and out of the corner of his eye Dmitry saw Alexei look up sharply.

"Better a lap dog than a mindless drone," Dmitry said. There was a flurry of motion. Dmitry's arms were twisted behind his back, making him bite back a yell, and the guard in front of him grabbed him by the throat, squeezing tight.

"No!" Alexei cried, but he was knocked to the ground and ignored.

"Be careful how you speak to me, boy," he hissed in his ear. His breath smelled of stale tobacco and Dmitry tried not to gag. "You are a prisoner of the state, now, a traitor to the Russian people for your loyalty to the monarchy. You would be wise to remember that." Dmitry glared at the guard with as much hate as he could muster, then spat in his face.

All of the guards froze, and Dmitry only had a split second of satisfaction before he was forced to the ground. He was grabbed by the hair roughly, and the guard in front of him yanked Dmitry's head down as he brought his knee upward. With a sickening crunch, Dmitry's face smashed into the guard's knee, and his nose began to gush blood. He couldn't hold back the howl of pain that escaped his lips, and then his head was pulled back up, forcing him to look up at the guards.

"You think you're such a big man, don't you?" the guard snarled in his face. "Standing up for the former Tsar and his family. Pathetic." Dmitry was punched in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to double over. Dmitry coughed and gasped for breath, his blood flecking the guards' boots.

"What is the meaning of this?" a voice demanded from the doorway. Olga and Tatiana stood there, both looking equally shocked at the scene in front of them.

"This is nothing that concerns you," the guard said coolly. Tatiana narrowed her eyes at the guards.

"I would beg to differ," Tatiana said with a hard edge to her voice. Olga strode forward and knelt next to Alexei, who was clutching his knee and desperately trying not to cry in front of the guards. She looked between her brother and Dmitry then stood, drawing herself up as tall as she could.

"Let him go," Olga commanded. "Your orders were to make sure we don't leave the palace, not to beat a servant senseless and injure my brother."

"No, but we do have the authority to punish any insubordination," the guard said stiffly. Nevertheless, the hands released Dmitry, though he was shoved to the ground and one of the guards stepped deliberately on his hand as they left the room. Tatiana rushed to help him up, dabbing at his nose with her sleeve.

"Mitya," she said, "that was incredibly foolish, even for you."

"You don't even know what happened," Dmitry grumbled, wincing as he pushed her hand away.

"We heard most of it, it's not like the rooms are sound proof," Olga said, helping Alexei stand. He wouldn't or couldn't put any weight on his left leg, and leaned heavily on his eldest sister.

"You shouldn't provoke them," Tatiana chided him, reaching up to his nose again. Dmitry caught her wrist and lowered it, ignoring the eyebrow she arched at him.

"Leave it," he said. "I'll be fine. We should take Alexei to Dr. Botkin, though."

"I hate to break it to you, Dmitry, but I'm pretty sure your nose is broken," Tatiana said. "It'll heal crooked if you leave it that way. Not to mention the pain you'll be in."

"I'll be fine," he repeated, but he followed Tatiana and Olga from the room. Between the three of them they managed to get Alexei up the stairs and into Anastasia and Maria's room, where both Dr. Botkin and Alexandra were tending to them. Maria, no longer delirious from the fever, gaped at them as they entered, and even Anastasia eyed Dmitry's bloodstained shirt warily. Both of the adults jumped up when the four of them entered, fussing over Alexei and Dmitry. Alexei was guided out of the room by Dr. Botkin, leaving Dmitry to be tended to by Alexandra.

"What happened to the two of you?" Alexandra demanded, examining Dmitry's nose.

"I'm fine," Dmitry continued to insist. "Alexei is the one who needs to be looked at. One of the guards shoved him to the ground, and I think he landed badly on his knee. I should go get his wheelchair."

"Dr. Botkin is taking care of him, now hold still," she said. She dabbed at his nose with a piece of cloth, trying to slow the bleeding. She used the softest touch imaginable, yet Dmitry still winced every time she touched his nose. Alexandra shook her head.

"It's definitely broken," she announced.

"I _told_ you," Tatiana said from where she was perched on Maria's bed. "I told him, Mama." Dmitry shot her a look and she merely grinned at him.

"One of the guards did this to him," Olga said, sounding outraged.

"The guards?" Maria asked. She shook her head, frowning. "Surely they wouldn't, right?"

"Well they did," Dmitry ground out as Alexandra continued to fuss over his nose.

"Hold still," she chided him, grasping the bridge of his nose between two of her knuckles and bracing her other hand against his forehead. Dmitry opened his mouth to say something, but it was lost in his yell of shock and pain as Alexandra yanked his nose forward with a muffled crunch while the hand on his forehead kept him from leaning forward.

"It's not perfectly straight, but it'll do. Now," she said, dabbing at the trickle of blood still coming out of his nose, "are you ready to tell me what happened?" She looked at him expectantly, and Dmitry looked away.

"I provoked them," he admitted. "I spat in one of their faces."

"But that's not the whole story!" Tatiana cried, standing up. "Olga and I heard most of it, Mama. The guards were teasing Alexei, and they were hurting him. Dmitry was only trying to defend him."

"Is this true?" Alexandra asked, looking back to Dmitry. He only shrugged, uncomfortable by her staring, and was surprised when she hugged him tightly. It lasted for only a second, he didn't even have time to hug her back, but when she pulled away she clasped his hand firmly between her own and he met her gaze once more.

"Thank you," she said, and he understood that she meant for more than defending her son.


	7. Chapter 7

Nicholas returned to the palace at the beginning of March, much to the relief of his family. He was immediately searched and then read the order of his house arrest, but he didn't seem to care much. He only had thoughts for his family, and he found them all in the little pair's room. Tatiana was reading to Anastasia and Maria while Olga and Alexandra knitted by their bedsides. Alexei and Dmitry were engrossed in a card game by the window.

"Papa!" Anastasia shouted from her bed as he appeared in their doorway. Everyone looked up from what they were doing, and then there was a flurry of movement as they all scrambled to greet him. The relief everyone felt was tangible; at last their entire family was back together. Anastasia would never had admitted it to anyone, but for a while she had feared the soldiers had killed her father and the provisional government was covering it up.

The entire family stayed in the room together for a while, chatting and catching up. Anastasia could hardly believe her father was finally home, and she kept telling people to pinch her to make sure she wasn't dreaming the whole thing. Alexei took far too much pleasure in her requests, resulting in him being escorted from the room by his parents when they decided it was time they talked in private. Olga and Tatiana left not long after them, but Dmitry stayed behind in the little pair's room.

"I'm glad Papa is home," Anastasia announced, though she didn't have to. "Hopefully now things might start to return to normal." Dmitry shook his head while Maria gave her younger sister a dubious look.

"I don't know, Nastya," Dmitry said. "I think it's a little more complicated than that."

"Well I don't mean _normal_ normal," Anastasia said, rolling her eyes. "I know things won't be exactly the same again. But maybe we might get a little more freedom."

"Maybe," Maria echoed in a hollow whisper.

"I wouldn't count on it," Dmitry said. He was trying to be optimistic for his friends' sakes, but they had been confined to their beds for almost a month. They hadn't interacted with the new guards much yet, but Dmitry had. They were the most disrespectful people Dmitry had ever had the misfortune of meeting. Besides breaking his nose, they had a habit of "accidentally" knocking things over and grinning when they smashed. Silverware started going missing, as did a few personal belongings. Dmitry had to wonder how much those stolen souvenirs were being sold for on the streets, and also who was buying them. It seemed like no one had enough money for food, let alone trinkets from the palace.

The guards also had a habit of harassing Dmitry whenever they could. Word had spread through their ranks that he was the one who had tried to stand up to one of them and spat in his face, and more often than not he found himself being tripped and shoved when he passed them in the hallways. Some had even gone as far as shoving him to the ground, though this always happened when he was alone. Some of the other servants had urged him to tell Alexandra or to fight back, but Dmitry didn't see the point. The guards would listen to a horse sooner than they would the ex-Empress, and fighting back would only make his situation worse. He would just have to deal with it.

* * *

The weeks began to pass with an unbearable monotony. Every day was the same, and they all found themselves tense in their boredom. Once Anastasia and Maria recovered, Alexandra retreated to her room once more and the children hardly saw her. Nicholas spent as much time as he could outside, and was sometimes joined by one or two of his children at a time. They were never allowed to stray farther than a small footbridge in the gardens, though, and there were always soldiers around watching their every move.

"Why do you think they gather there?" Anastasia wondered aloud, staring out the window at the front gates. Nicholas was outside, helping some other servants shovel snow and ice away from the footpaths. A small crowd had gathered at the fence to watch, as they always did when members of the family appeared outside.

"Curiosity?" Dmitry offered from where he sat, reading with Alexei. Tatiana, sitting in an armchair a few feet away with a book of her own, huffed.

"That doesn't mean they have to stare and point at us like we're animals in a zoo," she said. "It's because of them that I hardly go outside with Papa anymore. I can't stand the whispers."

"But why are they so curious?" Anastasia asked, still staring out the window. "We're just people."

"Well, think about it this way," Dmitry said. "They've hardly ever seen any of you before. You never went out in public much. If I didn't know you, I'd be curious too."

"But I don't see why," Anastasia said crossly. "It's not like we have two heads or extra arms. We're not royalty anymore. We're not even particularly interesting."

"But they don't know that," Dmitry said.

"Why are you justifying their actions?" Tatiana demanded, throwing her book to the side.

"I'm not, I'm just-"

"Those people out there are foul," Tatiana continued. "They just want to get a glimpse of the former imperial family so they can go back to their families and friends and tell them all how pathetic we look." Dmitry, Anastasia and Alexei all stared at her with looks ranging from bewilderment to confusion, and Tatiana stared back. "What?"

"Tatiana," Alexei said slowly, "what's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," Tatiana snapped at them, lurching to her feet. "There's nothing wrong with me." Dmitry and Anastasia quickly glanced at each other, confusion clear on their faces. Normally they would expect an outburst like this from Anastasia, or even Olga, but Tatiana preferred to stew in solitude.

To their growing surprise, Tatiana buried her face in her hands and began to cry. Both Anastasia and Alexei rushed to put their arms around her and comfort her. Dmitry quickly closed the nursery door, hoping to give them the illusion of privacy.

"It'll be alright, Tatya," Anastasia said, stroking her sister's hair. Alexei nodded, but Tatiana only cried harder.

"No, it won't," she sobbed, her voice slightly muffled.

"Sure it will," Alexei said, resting his head on her shoulder.

"How can you say that?" Tatiana asked, raising her head away from her hands. She stared at her siblings in shock. "Don't you know? Didn't anyone tell you yet?"

"Tell us what?" Tatiana's face crumpled, and for a few moments it was obvious she was struggling to find the right words.

"They're sending Anna and Lily away," she managed to say before dissolving into tears again.

"What?" Anastasia gasped. "Why?"

"I don't know," Tatiana wailed. "Mama tried to tell me it was for their safety, but I heard some of the soldiers calling Anna a traitor!"

"A traitor?" Anastasia yelled, outraged. "How can they call poor Anna a traitor?"

Dmitry slipped from the room, breathing hard, and none of the siblings followed him. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears and felt his heart pounding hard against his ribcage, but he wasn't sure if it was from fear or anger. Of all Alexandra's ladies in waiting, Anna and Lily were everyone's favorites. All the imperial children loved the two of them and would go out of their way to spend time with them.

Dmitry hadn't interacted with Anna or Lily very often, but he remembered how kind they were the few times they had spoken. Some of the court members had turned up their noses at him, especially when he had first come to live in the palace. He hadn't been surprised; he was a dirty, half-starved commoner mingling with royalty.

But the first time he met Anna, accompanying Alexei during some state affair, she had bowed to him with a small smirk on her face. He could still remember the shocked expressions of those around them and the snickering Grand Duchesses had been quick to repeat the gesture, much to everyone's shock. Later, Anna told him that she had heard about his stunt during the parade when he was ten, and had thought he might find it funny. Over the years it had turned into a joke among the family. And Lily was the one he could always count on to cheer them all up. When he thought of Lily, he thought of laughter. He could remember all the times she had stopped by when Alexei was bedridden, and how she was one of the few people who could get him to laugh during those times.

A week later, Dmitry stood with the three younger siblings at the window in the old nursery, Maria in a wheelchair. Olga stood with her mother outside, hugging Anna and Lily goodbye. Anastasia and Alexei clung to each other while Maria hugged her arms to her chest as they watched the two pairs of women hug each other tightly. After a few minutes, Anna and Lily moved toward the car that would take them away.

Suddenly Tatiana came running from the front door of the palace, carrying a small leather suitcase. They saw her waving her free arm, trying to get their attention, and though they couldn't hear anything from outside Dmitry imagined she was shouting at them to wait. Lily turned halfway and moved like she was going to meet Tatiana. A guard caught her arm almost at the same time another guard stepped in front of Tatiana.

Maria let out a strangled sound of outrage as they watched both Tatiana and Lily argue with the soldiers for a few moments. Finally, Lily managed to break free and ran to Tatiana's side, closely followed by two guards. Tatiana managed to hand the suitcase to Lily and clasp her hand for a brief moment before they were wrenched apart again. Neither of them fought the guards this time. Lily was escorted back to the waiting car while Tatiana sagged against her older sister. The guards closed the car door behind Lily, and then the car began to roll forward.

Anna and Lily were both practically family. They had been ladies in waiting to the Tsarina for years, and all the Romanov children loved them dearly. And now they were being sent away.

Dmitry had been with the family for years. He was practically family. He worried about what might be in store for him.

* * *

 _Historical note: There were two ladies in waiting arrested shortly after Nicholas II returned, Anna Vyrubova and Lili Dehn. Both of them survived the revolution. Originally in this story I was going to keep Lili Dehn as the lady in waiting who was arrested, but then I thought it might be more interesting to have her be Lily Malevsky-Malevitch from the musical._


	8. Chapter 8

_I know the last few chapters have been downers and you guys have been such great sports about it, so I figured you deserved something a more optimistic. It was significantly easier to write than the past few chapters, which honestly is a little surprising because when I was younger I was so much better at writing depressing stuff that I killed of characters like I was a serial killer or something. Hope you guys like it!_

* * *

Dmitry would never admit to it, not in a million years, but there was a tiny part of him that was glad for the house arrest.

He absolutely knew it was illogical, and he suspected it made him a bad person on some level. He definitely didn't enjoy the relentless boredom, now that there were only so many things they were allowed to do. He couldn't pretend to be happy that the former imperial family was so miserable. Olga had fallen ill again, with Alexandra insisting she had swelling around her heart. More often than not, the four other siblings would wander listlessly through the rooms of their home. Nicholas was distant, betrayed no emotion, and mostly kept to himself. And yet that tiny part of Dmitry felt glad.

Maybe glad wasn't the right word. He couldn't put a name to it, no matter hard he tried. But he liked the fact that he could spend time with Anastasia. He found himself going out of his way to try and get her to smile. Alexei was slowly becoming more independent and didn't need him around all the time anymore, and he found himself gravitating instead toward his best friend. He knew it was despicable of him.

He wasn't sure when exactly it started happening, but he did remember the moment he first noticed it. They had been sitting in the grand ballroom together, mostly in silence. It was a rare occasion; there were no guards hovering in the doorways watching their every move. Neither of them had been quite sure where they were, but they weren't about to protest either.

"It looks so much smaller now," Anastasia said, gazing at the far end of the room. "As a kid, it always seemed like this room stretched on for miles." Dmitry hummed his agreement.

Anastasia stood from her seat on the steps and wandered over to the banister leading down to the main floor of the ballroom. Dmitry watched her as she rested both hands on it and stared down at the gleaming wood.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. Anastasia turned to face him again with a small distant smile on her face.

"I used to slide down this banister all the time. Sometimes it was so dusty, but I didn't care. Mama had a fit every time, do you remember?"

Dmitry shook his head. "I've never seen you slide down that," he informed her. He stood up as well, hands in his pockets.

"No, you must have," Anastasia said, a small crease forming between her eyebrows. "It always caused a big fuss. Papa had to ban me from coming in here when I was six, unless there was a ball or some other affair." Dmitry rolled his eyes.

"Nastya, I didn't even meet you until you were seven," he reminded her, leaning against the opposite banister. "And I didn't come to live here until you were eight."

"Oh, that's right," she said. "Sorry, it feels like you've always been here." She shook her head. Dmitry found himself staring as her curls bounced and caught the sunlight streaming in through the high windows.

As a child her hair had always been a reddish-golden color that he found fascinating, but in recent years her hair had been turning darker. He wasn't necessarily surprised by it, as his own hair had been almost blond as a young child. But he idly wondered what color her hair might end up being when she was an adult.

Dmitry blinked hard and tore his eyes away. Thankfully she hadn't noticed. He felt himself blush imagining what she might have said if she had caught him.

"You know," Dmitry said, trying hard to sound casual, "I think you were the most reckless child I ever met." Anastasia grinned.

"I know."

"That's not always a good thing," he continued. "Do you know how stupid you were, sneaking out of the palace on your own?" He'd thought about it more and more in recent years, and he sometimes he still couldn't believe she'd done it.

"But nothing ever happened," she insisted, crossing her arms.

"But what if something had?" Dmitry challenged. He pushed off of the banister he had been leaning against and crossed his own arms. "You were only a little kid, and it wasn't like you knew anyone. You could have been kidnapped or something."

"I knew you," she tried to argue, and Dmitry rolled his eyes again.

"Yeah, and you only met me because I tried to steal from you, remember?"

Anastasia grinned even wider. "I'd almost forgotten about that."

"You seem to have a very selective memory." She stuck her tongue out and kicked her shoe at him, which he easily dodged.

"That may be so, but do you know what I do remember?" Dmitry shook his head. "I remember something about a young servant boy getting into trouble at the old Yusopov palace." Dmitry stood up a little bit straighter, his smirk dissolving.

"Hey, that's-"

"We went to see a play," she continued, ignoring Dmitry. "I still remember all the fancy gowns, and asking Mama when I might be allowed to wear a gown like those. We were all having so much fun, and then this little servant boy went and drank the Tsar's glass of champagne!" Anastasia laughed gleefully, remembering the incident. Dmitry had drunk practically the whole glass in one gulp, not realizing it was alcohol. She could still remember the face he made with perfect clarity.

"And who handed it to me?" Dmitry shot back with a small scowl. "Because I seem to remember a certain young princess handing me the glass saying that it was for me. And then she laughed when I was drunk and had to be escorted from the theatre to the sitting room outside." Anastasia shrugged, still grinning at him.

"That's inconsequential," she quipped. "I wrote to Nana about that incident and she thought it was hilarious too." Suddenly her smile faded.

"What's wrong?" Dmitry asked, stepping a little closer to her.

"I miss her," Anastasia said, hugging herself. "We haven't heard from her in months, since we were arrested. I hope she's okay."

"She's safe in Paris," Dmitry said, reaching out to touch her arm. "I heard lots of the noblemen and their relatives fled to France and England. I'm sure she's fine."

"I hope so," she said, pulling away. Dmitry had to suppress the urge to reach out again. He wasn't sure where this urge was coming from, but he wanted to so badly to hold her tight until she stopped worrying. He wished he could take all of her fears away.

"Would you do it again, if you knew what was coming?" she asked him suddenly.

"What are you talking about?"

"Would you have agreed to be a companion to my brother if you knew the revolution would happen?" Dmitry found he wasn't sure how to answer.

"Sometimes I wish I could have been born as someone else," she continued after the silence stretched on a second too long. "Someone other than a grand duchess. I wonder what I might have done."

"I can't imagine you being anyone other than yourself," Dmitry said.

"Well that's your problem. You don't use your imagination enough." she said. She cocked her head to the side. "I think I could have been born a Natalya. Or maybe a Vera. I would have made a wonderful ballerina." She raised herself onto her tip toes quite clumsily, gripping the banister for balance.

"Oh yes. Definitely," Dmitry said sarcastically, and Anastasia swatted at him.

"I would have gotten formal training," she said impatiently. "I would have been the star of every show, people would line up around the block to see me."

"Do you think I would line up to see you?" He knew the answer. Of course he would line up to see her. He had a feeling he would never be able to stay away from her, no matter who they had been born as, but he was curious to see what she thought.

"Well, that all depends," she said after thinking for a moment. "Who would you have been?"

"Who would I be other than me?"

Anastasia shook her head vigorously, her curls bouncing again. "That's boring," she said. "Maybe you'd be Pietr, a brave and handsome soldier fighting in the war."

"If I was fighting in the war, how would I see you dance?"

"You had come home for a while to visit family," Anastasia said resolutely. "You heard of the lovely and talented ballerina dancing in town, and decided you wanted to see the ballet. But then there was a line wrapping all the way around the city, and you decided to go home." Dmitry laughed and shook his head.

"I thought the line was down the block, not all the way around the city," he said. "Anyway, I don't think I'd want to be anyone but me, Dmitry Turov. I like who I am and what I've done in my life."

"I don't think you understand just how famous I would be, if I were a ballerina." Anastasia smiled and ran a hand absentmindedly through her hair. When she pulled her hand away, strands of her hair were woven between her fingers, and more of it fell to the ground. She stared at them for a few seconds, her smile fading, before kicking them away from her dress.

"It's a common side effect," Dmitry offered. "Mine fell out too, after I had the measles."

"I know," she exhaled. "Maria and Tatiana are also losing their hair. Maybe Olga is too, but I haven't been allowed to go see her."

"You might have to shave it, or it'll grow in clumpy," Dmitry said. Anastasia ran her hands through her hair again, pulling out more strands of hair. Dmitry reached out and caught her hands, bringing them back down to her sides while she stared up at him in mild shock. "Don't."

"Why not?" she challenged. She didn't pull her hands out of his. Dmitry didn't have an answer for her. He stammered, searching for words as she arched an eyebrow at him.

"It'll make a mess," he finally managed to say. "Someone will have to clean it up. Probably me."

"Oh," she said, pulling her hands away. Dmitry felt like kicking himself as she turned away from him and began heading back up the stairs. Of course there were other, better reasons why she shouldn't pull out her hair, but how could he tell her that he liked her hair without sounding creepy? He turned back toward the ballroom, resigned to let her go.

"Aren't you coming?" he heard her ask behind him. She was standing at the top of the steps, looking at him expectantly with her hands on her hips.

"Coming where?" he asked, only turning halfway.

"Well if I'm going to have to shave my head, now's as good a time as any," she said. "I think I know where Papa keeps his razor, but I'll need help."

Dmitry thought maybe he should be a little embarrassed at how quick he was to follow her, but he pushed that thought aside and took the steps two at a time. The pair was able to find the razor with ease, and set to work in the bathroom. Naturally Anastasia wanted to do most of it herself, but she handed the razor to Dmitry so he could do the back of her head and any other spots she'd missed.

"What is this?" a voice said. In the mirror they saw Maria poke her head into the bathroom, a highly amused look on her face.

"I'm shaving my head so I can run away and become a monk," Anastasia said casually. "Dmitry's helping me."

"Girls can't become monks," Maria said, coming all the way into the room. "Will you help me next, Mitya?" Dmitry chuckled a bit as he nodded. Soon both Tatiana and Alexei came looking for them as well and joined the line to have their heads shaved. Perhaps, he thought, if he had been born as someone else he could have been a barber.

When it was done, the siblings were grinning at each other. Tatiana had informed them that Olga's hair had already been shaved off the previous day, and that she was starting to feel better. They began plotting how they could reveal their new bald heads to their mother, who was sure to throw another fit.

Dmitry glanced at the siblings as they deliberated, then raised the razor to his own head and cut a strip of hair right down the middle. The girls' jaws nearly hit the floor and Alexei hooted in delight, clapping. Tatiana took the razor from him with a huge smile and began shaving his head as well. As the last of his hair fell to the ground, they all looked at themselves in the mirror.

"Look at that, Mitya," Maria said. "We all look the same."

Dmitry had to agree. If he had been a stranger staring at the five of them in the mirror, he would never have known he was just a servant to the family. Anastasia squeezed his hand tight as they smiled at each other in the mirror.

* * *

 _Oh Dmitry, my poor little muffin._


	9. Chapter 9

Anastasia leaned her head back and let the warm sunlight spill across her face. That was one benefit of not technically being a princess anymore, she thought. No one cared if she got tanned or sunburnt anymore. She looked back down at her feet, which were now caked in dirt and dust since she had kicked off her shoes an hour ago. That was something else she could do, though Mama was sure to still make a big deal about it.

She was sixteen, now. Had everything gone according to plan, her parents would be looking at suitors for her. Maybe she'd already be courting somebody. Both Olga and Tatiana had been courting at her age, reluctant though they were. Even Maria had had people to casually flirt with. A part of her envied them. At sixteen, her sisters were finely dressed Grand Duchesses. At sixteen, she was not.

But another part of her thought it suited her just fine. What should she care about courtships? Her duty had always been to be married off- ideally to a crown prince. She would have been a pawn in the political scheme of Europe. Now, whenever her family was released, she would be free to do whatever, and go wherever, her heart desired. She could go to France, if she wanted to. She could find Nana, whom she hadn't seen now in ten years. Anastasia wondered what her beloved grandmother might say when she saw her all grown up. Sure, they had sent pictures back and forth over the years, but it was different seeing a photograph of someone and seeing them in person.

They could walk the Alexander Bridge, just as they had promised to do. She could bring the music box Nana had given her all those years ago. Anastasia hoped Nana would be proud that she had kept it in such good condition all these years. And she could introduce Dmitry to Nana finally. She had told her so much about him over the years, and she wanted them to finally meet in person.

She glanced over at Dmitry, who was kneeling in the dirt about twenty feet away. Maria stood next to him, holding a basket of vegetables they had just harvested from the garden. Dmitry was laughing at something her sister had said.

She felt a sudden flare of jealousy in her chest. She knew Maria currently had a crush on him. Maria had always developed crushes easily, ever since they were children, and with the house arrest they were all spending every waking hour with one another. Anastasia could easily see how Maria had fallen for Dmitry. But in her mind, Dmitry had always belonged to her. Not in a romantic sense, she mentally added. Dmitry had been her friend first. He had come to live with her family because of her. She felt she had more claim over him than any of her siblings had, even Alexei.

And Dmitry was as impossible to read as ever. Anastasia could not make head or tails of how Dmitry felt about Maria. On the one hand, he did not seem to dislike her sister's company. The two of them had created an easy friendship over the years, and were able to talk and joke freely. He never made excuses to escape her company. But on the other hand, he didn't seem to intentionally seek out Maria's company. In recent weeks, the two of them were often seen together, but that was more because Maria sought him out.

Anastasia bent her head down and tried to push them from her mind once more. She busied herself by pulling some of the ripe tomatoes off of their vines, trying hard not to look up at Maria and Dmitry again.

"You're pulling them too roughly," Tatiana chastised her from a few feet away. "You'll squish the tomatoes like that." Anastasia huffed and stuck her tongue out at her sister.

"So what if some get squished?" she shot back. "There are more of them, Tatya." Tatiana rolled her eyes and delicately plucked another tomato from the vine. Now she was just showing off. Anastasia had to suppress the urge to throw the tomato in her hand at her sister. A shadow fell across the plants, and she and Tatiana looked up. One of the guards stood there, his expression stoic.

"What do you want?" Tatiana asked, straightening up. "We're not bothering anyone."

"You're needed in the palace," he informed them with a sneer.

"We'll be there in a minute," Anastasia said. "We're busy right now." She bent to place the tomatoes in a basket by her feet, and the guard's hand closed around her upper arm. He pulled her upright again, making her cry out in surprise.

"Hey!" she heard Dmitry shout.

"You'll come inside now," the guard said. "All of you will. The plants can wait."

"Take your hand off me," she snarled, prying at his fingers. When he didn't loosen his grasp, she dug her nails into his fingers. The guard didn't react except to narrow his eyes.

"Let her go." Dmitry's voice came from right over her shoulder, and Anastasia flinched. She hadn't even heard him approach. The guard stared hard at Dmitry for a few seconds, then released her arm.

"You're needed inside, too," the guard informed him. "It is of the utmost importance, and it is best not to keep everyone waiting."

They were escorted back inside and led to the dining room. The rest of their family and a few of the servants were gathered there, obviously waiting for them. Anastasia inched closer to her sisters and managed to wedge herself between Maria and Dmitry, taking her sister's hand so she wouldn't raise her suspicions. Dmitry's hand closed around her free one and squeezed it gently. She squeezed back.

"Are you all finally here?" asked one of the guards.

"Yes," Alexandra replied calmly. "Now, we would like to know what is so important that it could not possibly wait another minute." A man entered the room, and the guards snapped to attention. Anastasia didn't recognize him, and judging by the looks on their faces none of her siblings did either.

"Kerensky," Nicholas said, a note of resignation in his voice. "This must be important, if you're here."

"Indeed it is," Kerensky replied gravely. "The Bolshevik forces are growing stronger and heading this way." Alexandra inhaled sharply and curled her hand around Nicholas's arm. Anastasia felt Dmitry stiffen next to her. She didn't understand what this man, Kerensky, was saying.

"What can be done?" Alexandra demanded. "These insolent children must be stopped."

"Well, madam," Kerensky said, "there is really only one thing we can do. You and your family must be relocated."

* * *

Dmitry didn't understand why they were still waiting. They had been told to be in the foyer and ready to depart by midnight. It was now approaching three in the morning, and everyone was clearly restless. Alexei was attempting to sleep on a bench nearby, his head in his mother's lap, and Olga and Maria were leaning against the pile of suitcases in the middle of the room. Anastasia had disappeared under the excuse of needing a bathroom, but that had been almost ten minutes ago. It was really only a matter of time before someone went looking for her, and Dmitry hoped she wasn't trying to hide in the hopes of being left behind.

The week since they had been told they were going to be moved had passed too fast. It had been spent packing what they wanted to bring with them in the limited space they had, and the only clue they had about where they were going was that they would be needing warm clothes. Dmitry didn't like the sound of that.

The provisional government had intended to load them all onto a train in the middle of the night. They said that it would reduce the risk of an attack by the Bolsheviks. The sun would rise the next day and the imperial family would simply be gone. But there had been a delay, and Dmitry thought that if they didn't move them soon then they might have to wait for the next night to do so. He really hoped that wasn't the case. They had already been kept waiting long enough, he couldn't imagine being told to wait another day. Nicholas was already pacing up and down the hall, and Dmitry had half a mind to join him just so he had something to do.

"What is taking so long?" Maria complained loudly. Olga shushed her quickly. Maria frowned and stood up, walking away from her sister. Alexei sat up, looking annoyed. He whispered something to Alexandra, who shook her head in response.

Maria slid onto the bench next to Dmitry, still frowning. "I just want to leave," she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall.

"Why?" he asked. "Are you really so eager to leave your home behind?"

"Of course not," she snapped at him. "But I've already made my peace with it and said my good byes. Now it's just prolonging the inevitable."

Dmitry frowned. "I don't want to leave." This palace had been as much his home as it had been hers for the past eight years. He had so many fond memories in the halls and rooms of this place, and he was not so eager to leave them behind. What made it worse was the knowledge that they were probably going somewhere much worse.

"This is only a place we once lived," Maria said, as if she could read his thoughts. "The way I see it, it doesn't matter where we go as long as we are all together."

Anastasia reappeared and took Maria's spot next to Olga. Dmitry watched as she closed her eyes and leaned back against the luggage like her older sister. Both of them looked so uncomfortable there, but neither of them moved.

Hours passed, and Maria didn't try to make conversation with him again. Instead they all sat in relative silence in the foyer. Around four in the morning the guards finally began loading the luggage into the motor cars waiting for them and Anastasia and Olga relocated to a wall. But by five o'clock they had barely made a dent in the pile, and Kerensky had showed up again. He asked the family and the servants accompanying them to join him in the dining room for tea. As they all stood up and followed him, Dmitry thought that perhaps the family should be insulted that someone was inviting them to have tea in their own dining room, but they all looked so exhausted and he felt so tired himself that he didn't have the energy to be annoyed. He doubted they did either.

"There was a small delay with the train," Kerensky informed them when the tea had been poured, as if they hadn't noticed yet. "It should be arriving soon, though, and when it does we will transport you to the station. I would advise that you prepare to depart soon." All anyone could do was nod.

And still it was another hour and a half before more motor cars arrived to pick up the family and their entourage. By that time both Olga and Maria had had brushes with the guards and Tatiana had burst into tears. Dmitry felt exhausted right down to his bones, and still sleep was impossible. They were all herded into the cars almost as soon as they arrived, packed in as tightly as they dared. Dmitry found himself pressed up against Botkin and Daria, a lady-in-waiting, and almost forgot to look back at the palace for a last glance. He didn't have much time at all to mourn the loss of the place he considered home, though, as the bumpy ride quickly made him nauseous. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw tight in an effort to push it down.

When he opened them again, their car had stopped in the street outside the train station. There were soldiers and guards every few feet, but that didn't stop the crowds of people gathered from trying to get a glimpse of the Romanovs as they exited the cars. Dmitry was a little surprised that there were so many people there so early in the morning, and it appeared that most of them were not taking trains themselves. They had come solely to see the imperial family leave.

Dmitry felt oddly proud, watching the family board the train calmly. He could see that Tatiana's eyes and nose were still red and Anastasia looked distinctly furious, but they did not make a spectacle of themselves. Watching them gave him the courage to stand as straight as he could and hold his head up as he boarded the train as well, a few cars down from the family.

"They can go!" Kerensky shouted from outside, and the train shuddered under their feet as it began to move. Dmitry watched from the window as the crowd outside began waving their hats and scarves. It was eerily silent outside as the train picked up speed.

* * *

 _I apologize that I hadn't been able to update this in a few weeks. I had a bunch of final assignments due, but now that I am on winter break I'm hoping to get more chapters of this written! I hope you all have a wonderful holiday!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Alright. So this chapter isn't my favorite. But honestly I think I wrote this chapter four different times, and this one was the least sucky._

* * *

Anastasia pinched the corner of the curtain between her thumb and index finger and carefully peeled it back enough to glance outside. She felt a little thrill of excitement. Looking out the windows had been expressly forbidden by both the guards and her mother, who feared someone might recognize them and attempt to free them or kill them, respectively. It was dark outside, now, and the train was speeding through the country side, so she figured there was no one outside to see her. She was sure she'd still get in trouble if she was caught, but there was also not much they could do to her.

It was Papa who had figured it out, that first day on the train. They were told they would spend a few days on the train and then be transferred to a boat to get to their destination. Spending all that time travelling could only mean one thing: they were headed for Siberia. She supposed there were worse places to be, but wasn't looking forward to the frigid Siberian winter months that were coming.

It had been days now, and Anastasia had to wonder if they were planning on keeping them all on the train for the rest of their lives. They hadn't even been allowed to stretch their legs when the train stopped for supplies every so often. Instead, Anastasia often opted to walk up and down the length of the compartments she was allowed in.

For her family, that meant their sleeping compartment, the dining car, and a car full of normal train seats. It was small and cramped, but it was still more freedom than she'd heard their entourage and servants were getting. They were confined in two cars, one for men and one for women, and wandering out of those cars was strictly forbidden, not even for meals. Anastasia shuddered to imagine what the bathroom situation was like for them. She had seen cattle treated better than the guards were treating the servants, and it didn't sit well with her at all.

"What are you doing?"

Anastasia yelped and hit her head against the window as the voice made her jump. She quickly turned, arranging her expression into one that she hoped looked innocent.

"Don't sneak up on me like that, Mashka," she breathed, pressing a hand to her heart.

"Maybe if you weren't breaking the rules, you wouldn't have been so startled," Maria quipped. Even still, she walked forward and pulled the corner of the curtain back as well.

"You can't really see much," Anastasia admitted. "It's too dark outside now."

"I'm told this is mostly farmland anyway," Maria said. "Not very interesting to look at. I can't believe this is all Russia, though. I never knew it was so large." Anastasia nodded in agreement. She wondered why it hadn't occurred to her that the land her family had ruled for centuries could be so vast. She had seen maps plenty of times and knew that Russia was the largest country on the globe, one-sixth of the entire world's surface in total. It just hadn't sunk in what that meant until the past few days.

"Where do you think we're going?" Anastasia asked her sister, who shrugged in response.

"I know as much as you do," she said. "Though I did overhear Mama say she hopes we're going to the town that Father Grigori was born."

"Pokrovskoye? Why would they send us there?" Anastasia frowned. She knew exactly why Mama would want to be sent there, but she didn't think the government would be so kind to them. She knew most of the Russian people didn't think of Rasputin kindly, and besides that, sending their family there could be viewed as giving them what they wanted. No, she was certain they would not be going to Pokrovskoye. Judging by the expression on her sister's face, Maria had come to the same conclusion. Anastasia reached out and took her sister's hand as she started to sniffle.

"I told Dmitry that it didn't matter to me where we were sent, as long as we were together," Maria said. "I think he believed me. I wish I could believe it myself." Anastasia bristled at the mention of Dmitry, but stamped the feeling down.

"Why don't you?" she asked.

"Is it something you would believe right now?" Maria asked, lowering herself into a seat nearby. Anastasia grudgingly shook her head. "Don't be mistaken, I am very glad we're all together. But I don't think that makes up for everything that's happened to us."

"What do you think will happen to us?" Anastasia asked. Once again, Maria could only shrug.

"I can tell you what I hope will happen," she offered. Anastasia nodded. "I'd like to think the provisional government will get this nasty revolution business sorted out. I don't think we'll ever be allowed to rule Russia again, but maybe they'd allow us to live in peace in the country side. Papa could be a simple farmer. I think he'd like that. And we wouldn't be duchesses anymore. We would all be free to do what we wanted with our lives."

"I've thought about that part," Anastasia said. "I would go and visit Nana in Paris first, but I'm not sure what I would do after that."

"I think I'd like to see the world a bit, and then settle down," she said. "I feel like there's so much to discover about the world." Anastasia bit her lip, then gave into her curiosity.

"Who do you think you'd want to marry?" she said lightly, trying not to raise her sister's suspicion. "Do you think you've met them yet?"

Maria frowned. "Well, the only people that were ever considered for me to marry were foreign princes. I doubt they would be allowed to marry us once this is over."

"But you said we'd be ordinary girls," Anastasia pressed. "We'd be allowed to marry ordinary boys, like soldiers."

"I suppose," Maria said. "Maybe I'd meet someone while travelling around."

"So no one's caught you eye, yet?" Anastasia asked. "None of the soldiers or guards or, well, anyone?"

"I haven't really thought about it much," Maria admitted, rising. She headed toward the door of the car they were in, then paused in the doorway. A second later, she turned to Anastasia with a bemused look.

"What?" Anastasia asked.

"You should know, Nastya," Maria said, "that you shouldn't worry. I don't think I've met the person I'll marry yet." She left then, the implication of her words hanging in the air. Anastasia couldn't help the smile that slowly spread across her face. She shouldn't be surprised that Maria had been able to see right through her. They had shared a room their entire lives, and Maria probably knew her better than anyone else in the world. She should have known better than to underestimate her sister. Anastasia lingered at the window for a few more minutes, deep in thought.

* * *

Anastasia jerked awake to the sound of someone pounding hard on the compartment door. All around her, her siblings and parents were sitting up in their bunks, looking just as startled as she was.

"Wake up! It's time to go."

"Go where?" Maria asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "They still haven't told us."

"Are you up yet?" Anastasia swung her feet out of bed and onto the floor as her papa stood up and opened the compartment door.

"Good morning," he greeted the guard peacefully, as if they hadn't been rudely awoken mere seconds before. "We were just getting up now. Might we have a few minutes to gather our belongings?"

"Don't get smart with me, Colonel Romanov," the guard growled. "Get your things together and report outside as soon as you're done. Be sure you have everything. Once this train leaves, it's not coming back." The guard stalked off as Nicholas closed the door.

"Come, my loves," her mama said, getting out of bed as well. "Hurry, so we don't make them angrier."

It didn't take long at all for them to gather the possessions they'd brought on the train with them. Most of their luggage and their servants' luggage was in the baggage car, so they only had a few suitcases and some personal items to keep track of. Anastasia changed her clothes quickly, throwing her nightdress into her suitcase after making sure her music box was still there. She hadn't moved it from her suitcase since she had put it in there, but double checking made her feel better. She couldn't imagine if it was lost.

Within ten minutes of waking, she and her family were standing with their suitcases outside the train while workers unloaded the rest of their luggage from the baggage car. They were throwing the bags haphazardly from the train, not caring what they landed on. Suddenly Anastasia was very glad her music box wasn't in one of those bags. Surely it would have been broken five times over by now.

"Mitya!" Alexei cried, and Anastasia looked over to the next train car. Their servants were being herded off the train, and she was horrified to see the state of them. Most of them look disheveled and exhausted. Dmitry had quite a bit of stubble covering his jaw, and it was so different from how she was used to seeing him that she was actually speechless for a second. The second he heard his name, though, Dmitry attempted to give them a small smile and wave.

"Where are we to go now?" she heard her mother ask one of the guards. "Are we staying here?" Anastasia and her siblings looked around. It wouldn't be so bad to stay here, she thought. It appeared they had arrived in a small, quaint town next to a river. All the buildings and houses looked small compared to what they were used to, but then again, they had been on a train for days now, so she wasn't about to complain.

"No, not here," one of the guards said. "There is a steamer boat waiting for you across town. It will take you to Tobolsk."

"Tobolsk?" Olga said with an air of disdain. "Why there? There's nothing in that town, I've heard."

"We're told the people do not view you as negatively as they do in St. Petersburg. It will be safer for you there," the guard replied. "The town is only accessible by the river, and that freezes over in the winter. There will be less of a chance for the Bolsheviks to reach you."

 _'Less of a chance for us to escape, too,'_ Anastasia thought bitterly. Once the river froze over, she knew they would be cut off from the outside world. It would be no better than staying in their home in the Winter Palace.

"Everyone is accounted for, sir," another guard reported. The first guard nodded and thanked him, then gestured for the family to begin loading themselves into the motor cars waiting to take them to the steamer.


	11. Chapter 11

It could be worse. Or at least, that's what Dmitry kept trying to tell himself, as they were shown where they were to stay for the foreseeable future.

The governor's house was a logical option. It was the largest house in town, and it had already had a tall fence erected around it. It wasn't large enough to accommodate all the servants, so many of the "non-essential" ones had been set up in surrounding buildings. Dmitry, apparently, was considered an essential servant and was staying in the governor's house with the former imperial family.

The first thing they all noticed when they were marched into the house was that it _reeked._ Anastasia had actually gasped and gagged, and Alexandra had clamped a handkerchief over her nose and mouth in an attempt to block out the stench. To Dmitry, it smelled as if fifty men had gone for a hundred-mile run and then sat in the house without bathing for a year. As it turned out, his analysis wasn't too far off.

The house had apparently been used as a barracks before their arrival. Supposedly there had been attempts to clean it and make it presentable before they came, but Dmitry couldn't help but think that they could have put more effort into it. There was still trash strewn everywhere, the windows were grimy and caked with dust, and what little furniture remained was ripped to shreds.

"I know we're supposed to be grateful that they moved us safely out of the Bolsheviks' range, but I can't believe they expect us to live in this house in the state it's in," Alexei said. They were unpacking their things in the room they were to share. It was a strange situation for both of them. Alexei had always had a room to himself, though Dmitry's room was right next door in case he was needed. Dmitry had become spoiled as well, he was realizing, since he'd had a room to himself for the past nine years, too. This room they were in now was half the size his room had been in the Winter Palace, and it was supposed to accommodate two of them. They both knew better than to complain, of course.

Dmitry was just unrolling his blankets onto his hard camp bed when there was a commotion from down the hall, followed by shouting. He and Alexei exchanged a brief glance before rushing out of the room to see what the issue was. Dmitry's pulse began to race when he realized the noise was coming from the sisters' shared room. He raced in, worried that the new guards in the house were already harassing the sisters.

" _Honestly,_ " Tatiana was shouting. "I was only making a suggestion!" There were no guards in the room, just the four girls.

"A stupid suggestion," Anastasia shot back. The two sisters were standing across the room from each other, but there was a pile of books and photos thrown haphazardly on the floor, and Olga wore an expression of exasperated boredom. Maria appeared to be trying to ignore the squabbling and was still pinning photos to the wall.

"Well maybe if you would listen to reason, then it wouldn't seem so stupid." If looks could kill, Dmitry was sure that Tatiana would have dropped dead right then from Anastasia's scathing glare.

"What's happening?" Alexei asked hesitantly.

"Drama," Olga grunted.

"I was only trying to decorate a little," Anastasia spat, gesturing wildly. "Tatiana forgot she isn't the boss of me and threw a fit."

"Because you were taking up far too much room!" Tatiana cried. "We all have to share the space, Anastasia. You don't get to just put your things everywhere!"

"I was not!"

"You were! You had your books all over my space!"

"So you threw them on the floor?!"

It appeared that the sisters were having a hard time adapting to the new sleeping arrangements as well. They had shared rooms with each other before, split up into the Big Pair and the Little Pair. But all four of them had never been forced to share a single room. Dmitry supposed it was only natural that they would butt heads as they tried to adjust.

He followed Anastasia as she stormed from the room, muttering angrily under her breath about where Tatiana could put her things. He forced down a smile and instead tried to calm her down.

"Maybe you might be allowed your own room if you asked them nicely," Dmitry offered, and Anastasia snorted.

"That would never happen," she said, and he knew she was right. "Alexei doesn't even get his own room, and he's supposed to be the important one."

"Well maybe you and Maria could share the separate room."

"Yes, but we'd have to ask the guards for that," she said. "And I doubt they like us enough to grant us favors. Anyway, I don't want to talk about it. I just want to go for a walk." She turned and headed toward they door they knew led to a small, fenced-in yard, but her hand was barely on the doorknob when a guard stepped in front of her.

"Apologies, miss, but we can't allow you to go in the yard," he said. To his credit, he did look and sound genuinely sorry. Anastasia planted her hands on her hips and glared at the guard, whose expression faltered briefly.

"Why?" Anastasia demanded.

"Orders from Commissar Pankratov," the guard stammered. "You'll meet him later, he's on his way here."

"And what reason does this Commissar Pankratov have for keeping us locked in this house?" she asked. "Are we to spend all our time indoors?"

"That's a question the Commissar will have to answer, miss," the guard said. He gave her another apologetic look, but it only seemed to make Anastasia even more furious. She spun on her heel and stomped away, muttering angrily under her breath once again.

Hours later, Dmitry found her sitting on a ledge on the roof outside the upstairs ballroom.

"They only said I couldn't go in the yard," she said glibly when he raised an eyebrow at her. "They never said anything about climbing out a window."

* * *

The Commissar, as it turned out, was not an unreasonable man. He did not allow the Little Pair to have their own room, but not because he thought they were too spoiled. There simply wasn't enough room to allow it. Tatiana and Anastasia eventually reached an agreement to split the space between their beds evenly, and neither girl was allowed to touch the other's things without express permission from the other.

They were all also allowed outside in the yard for brief periods, and they took advantage of this small freedom. The yard was tiny, but it was better than nothing. After a few days, two swings were even set up in a corner for the girls and Alexei, though he was forbidden to go near them unless someone accompanied him.

To the family's dismay, they weren't able to recreate the vegetable garden they'd planted at the Winter Palace. The yard only had dry soil, and there wasn't enough room to plant more than a few cabbages and bean plants. There was, however, a small lean-to shed, and some chickens and pigs were brought in to live in the yard. Dmitry tried not to get too attached to the creatures; he had bad feeling that they were destined for their dinner table sooner or later.

Something else that surprised Dmitry was the guards' continued allowance of the rooftop perch outside the ballroom. When he was told of it, Pankarov had merely shrugged and deemed it an innocent enough place. He reasoned that the roof was easily twenty feet off the ground, and even if a person tried to jump from the roof, they would only be able to land inside the fenced-in yard. Soon enough, the entire household, minus Alexandra, was using the rooftop perch on a regular basis.

Anastasia used it most often to people watch, and was usually joined by one or more of her sisters or Dmitry. She loved to make up stories about the people she saw, she told him, and to watch the world go by.

"Their made-up lives are just so much more interesting than mine," she said when he asked her why one day. "Look."

She nodded to a young man they could see standing across the street from the house. They had seen him circle the block a few times, trying hard to appear casual, but still sneaking glances up at the two of them on the roof.

"Make up a story for him," she said.

Dmitry considered the man for a few moments. "Well, his clothes aren't too shabby, so he's probably got a little bit of money. And if he's got a little bit of money, then he's not starving," he said. "He keeps coming back this way, but he doesn't look like he's running errands, so he's only coming back to look at us."

Anastasia rolled her eyes and shook her head. "That's boring. I said make up a story, not tell me what you see."

"I'm not good at that sort of thing," he said.

"You're only not good at it because you tell yourself you're not good at it," she countered.

"Well if you're so great, you do it," he grumbled. Anastasia sat up a little straighter and cleared her throat.

"His name is Boris," she began. Dmitry laughed, but stopped quickly when she kicked him. "Don't make fun of his name, he doesn't like it."

"Fine," he said.

"His name is Boris," she began again. "He's lived here his entire life, a young peasant growing up on his parents' farm and taking care of animals. As a teenager, he fell madly in love with a girl who lived in town. But she came from a family with a little more money than his, and he didn't think she would ever look at him the way she looked at him.

"But little did he know that she had noticed him as well, and she was determined to marry him. They met in secret, away from their parents' eyes."

"Where's the girl then?" Dmitry smirked. "If they were so madly in love, why isn't she with him?"

"Oh, that's easy," Anastasia said. "When the Great War broke out, he felt it was his duty to enlist in the army and fight. On the day he left, she met him at the train station to see him off. She told him that she expected him to come back for her, and he promised he would. He went off to the front lines of the war and served my papa faithfully. But then his regiment was ambushed and he was taken prisoner. Most of the men he had served with were dead, and the army officially pronounced him dead as well. News got back to his parents and his town, and the girl he had fallen in love with was heartbroken.

"By the time he escaped and made his way back here, the girl had moved on and married another man. That's why he keeps staring up here at us, because we remind him of what they could have been." Anastasia finished with a little nod, then grinned at him.

"Right," Dmitry said. "He's definitely not staring because you're a Grand Duchess."

" _Former_ Grand Duchess," she corrected him. "Anyway, we both know that's most likely not what actually happened to him. But it's certainly more fun than what you came up with."

"I suppose," he conceded. "Have you ever thought about becoming a writer?"

"A little," she said. "Not very seriously. At least, not until now. It was never a viable option until now."

"I think you'd be good at it," he said.

"Thanks," she said, her cheeks flushing with pride.

"What about those two men over on that corner?" he asked, nodding at the people in question, who appeared to be locked in a very heated discussion. Anastasia regaled him with a long, involved story of two men who got in over their heads with gambling who now had to scramble to pay back what they owed, until Olga found them and told them to come in for supper.


	12. Chapter 12

Anastasia woke slowly, refusing to open her eyes. She could still feel her sister curled next to her, and even with both of their blankets piled on top of them, she was still freezing.

It was only the beginning of October but the leaves were already changing colors, much earlier than any of them were accustomed to. The daylight hours were still warm enough, but the nights had become colder and colder. Last night had been the worst so far, to the point where Maria had climbed onto the cot with her and cuddled close. And it still wasn't enough.

Mama had already asked Pankratov to allow them stoves in the rooms. Alexei had begun to cough, a dangerous thing for him, and they all held their breaths every single time. Pankratov had assured them he would try to secure a few for them, but it had been a couple of weeks now, and nothing had changed. Anastasia had a sinking suspicion that he was only telling them that to appease them.

Maria shifted and breathed deep, but didn't get up. Anastasia knew she, too, was awake but unwilling to leave the meager warmth of the blankets. She was sure Maria knew she was awake as well. But for now, they were both content to lie there. It wasn't like there was anything better to do.

As kind as Pankratov was to them, he was strict. There were so many things they suddenly weren't allowed to do "for their own safety." The time they were allowed to spend in the yard was cut down after a group of men were caught outside the fence testing its strength, and walking into town was out of the question entirely for their family. What didn't make sense to her, though, was that their servants were allowed to go into town as long as they were accompanied by an armed guard. Papa had already tried to question Pankratov about it but the Commissar had simply said that it was out of his hands, and that was that.

Anastasia supposed that allowing the servants to come and go was better than nothing. They were able to request things from shops and send letters through the servants, as long as everything was inspected first. She couldn't help but feel a little jealous of that small freedom granted to them that her family didn't have, but she could at least try to understand. The provisional government didn't want to take any chances with them. And Dmitry, either out of solidarity or stupidity, didn't take advantage of that freedom.

It struck her that perhaps she didn't fully appreciate what Dmitry had done for her family enough. He had served her family and her brother faithfully, unwaveringly, for years, growing closer to her family than even their most devoted friends. He always insisted that he stayed with them because he had nowhere else to go, but Anastasia had suspected for a long time that there was more to it than that. It seemed to her that even with nothing waiting for him outside her family and nowhere to go, he had given up an awful lot to follow them into exile. Truth be told, if it was her in his shoes, she wasn't sure if she would have made the same choice.

"Nastya?"

Anastasia reluctantly opened her eyes and turned her head slightly toward her sister. "Mashka?" Maria's eyes were also open, staring at her. She drew the blankets tighter around the two of them.

"I miss the winters in St. Petersburg," Maria said, shivering slightly.

"Me too. I don't think I have all my toes left." To emphasize her point, Anastasia grinned wickedly as she pressed her foot against her sister's shin, earning a startled yelp in response. Tatiana rolled over and shot them a look, and Olga sat up in her bed.

"Must you two yell so early in the morning?" Tatiana protested.

"Sorry," the Little Pair mumbled together, though Anastasia was still grinning. Tatiana huffed and rolled over again, pulling her blankets up to her ears. None of them moved from their beds; it seemed not one of them was willing to leave their blankets behind. Judging by how bright it was already, it was only a matter of time before someone came looking for them or the smells of breakfast would reach their room. Then, and only then, would they get out of bed and join their father and brother in the dining room to eat and receive their news from the world outside. Very often the newspapers that were delivered to them were days old, but that didn't stop Tatiana from reading them religiously or Nicholas from asking Pankratov for updates.

Anastasia had just settled herself in a comfortable position again when the door to their bedroom flew open and hit the wall behind it with a crash. All four of them sat up in bed with identical shrieks of shock. A guard Anastasia didn't recognize stood in their doorway, staring at them as they hurriedly covered themselves.

"Excuse me, sir!" Olga cried. "We're not decent. You could at least have given us the courtesy of knocking."

"What is this?" he demanded, staring at Little Pair's shared bed. Anastasia shrank back against her sister under his harsh gaze. "Is your own bed not good enough for you, Comrade Romanova?"

"No, sir, I-"

The guard continued talking as if Maria hadn't said a word. "Because if you're too good for that bed, perhaps we should take it away. It's clearly not needed here, and it can go to someone who will get good use out of it."

"You will do no such thing," Tatiana snarled, standing up. "It is too cold in here at night. It's no wonder they decided to share."

"I don't recall asking your opinion," the guard spat back, turning his head to glare at her. Even still, Tatiana didn't back down, and within seconds the guard took a step back.

"Be in the dining room in five minutes, Comrades." And with that, he turned on his heel and marched from the room, leaving the door wide open. Tatiana swept forward and closed it firmly.

"Comrades?" Anastasia asked as she finally rose from her bed and picked up her dressing gown. "Isn't that what the Bolsheviks call people?"

"Maybe," Olga said. "I can't remember."

"I didn't recognize him," Anastasia said. After two months, she thought she could recognize every single guard on sight, and even call a few by name. She turned to Maria, who was the most familiar with the guards and soldiers. "Mashka?"

Maria only stared at the door with wide, wild eyes as she shook her head.

* * *

Dmitry pulled the window open as far as it would go and clambered out, but stumbled when the toe of his shoe caught on the window sill. He pitched forward his hands outstretched and searching for something to grab onto, but before his scream could reach his lips, a hand reached out and yanked him sideways.

"You know, you were never this uncoordinated before," Anastasia remarked. "Maybe you'll be known as the clumsy one now, instead of me." Dmitry shot her a look before settling himself on the roof beside her.

"That's never going to happen," Dmitry said. "I can at least walk a lap around the yard without finding something to trip over." Anastasia frowned at him before crossing her arms and turning back to face the yard and the road beyond it. Dmitry rolled his eyes and nudged her with his shoulder, knowing she wasn't actually angry at him.

"No stories today?" he asked her after a minute or two of silence. She only shrugged half-heartedly.

"There's not much I can come up with right now," she said.

"Come on, that can't be true."

"Yes, it _can_ ," Anastasia huffed. "I'm not in the mood."

"That's never stopped you before," he said. "What's going on with you? Is this because of what happened this morning?"

Dmitry wasn't entirely sure of everything that had changed, having not been allowed in the room with the family as they were updated, but he knew the basics. Some time last week, the Bolsheviks had overthrown the provisional government and taken control of the country. Pankratov had been sent away by the new leaders, and though Kobylinsky was put in charge of them, everyone knew that he had minimal authority over the new Red Guards. Kobylinsky had been appointed to them by the provisional government, and Dmitry couldn't help but think that it was only a matter of time before he was forced to leave, too.

Anastasia snorted and shuffled away from him. "No, of course not," she said, her tone biting. "I'm perfectly fine with what's happened to Russia in the past few months."

"You don't have to be so rude," Dmitry said, feeling his temper rise. "I was only asking. It's not like this is my fault."

"I'm not saying it is," she snapped. "I know it's not your fault, but I'm allowed to be angry and upset about it, Dmitry."

"I know that, but why are you yelling at me, then?"

"Hey!" They both jumped, startled by the shout. One of the new guards was leaning out the window, his face contorted in anger and his gun pointed at the two of them. "What do you two think you're doing out here?"

"We've just been talking and getting some fresh air," Anastasia said simply. "We've been allowed to sit out here for weeks."

"Well there are new rules, now," the guard sneered. "Both of you are to come back inside the house this instant."

"But we're not bothering anyone," Dmitry protested. "What can we do from up here?"

"We will not be taking any chances, whether that be someone taking shots at you, or you signaling to someone else," the guard said. "Now get back inside."

Dmitry sighed, but began scooting toward the window anyway. As much as he wished he could stay outside, he wasn't eager to give the guard a reason to use his gun on the two of them. The guard stood back as Dmitry swung his legs through the window and climbed back in the house, but as he turned to help Anastasia he realized that she wasn't right behind him.

"Comrade Romanova," the guard barked. "I will not give you another warning."

"I'm coming," she said, though she was taking her time. She was gazing at the view they had from the roof as she slid herself toward the open window, as if she would never see it again. When she finally reached the window she paused, and that seemed to be the last straw for the guard. He grabbed her ankle and yanked hard, causing her to yelp in surprise and possibly pain. She fell through the window, amazingly not smacking her head on the bottom of the window, and Dmitry rushed forward to catch her as she stumbled.

"What was that for?" he snarled as he steadied her. Anastasia clung to him even after her feet were firmly on the ground again.

"You must learn that orders must be followed immediately," the guard said. "Not when you feel like it."

* * *

The ballroom window was nailed shut days after the incident. No one had dared to try and even open it after Anastasia reported what had happened, but it seemed that the Red Guards were truly taking no chances. Without their rooftop perch available to them, the only chances they had to get fresh air came in the hour before lunch, and occasionally for a while in the afternoons. But with winter rolling in, even that small freedom didn't seem so appealing some days.

Tensions began running high in the house. The family often butted heads with the Red Guards, though Nicholas encouraged them all to respond with grace and dignity. Tatiana excelled at it, choosing to quietly regard the guards' comments and laughter with a frosty indifference. Olga and Maria were able to ignore them for the most part too, though they muttered and complained about it in private. But Dmitry knew as soon as the words left Nicholas's mouth that Anastasia wouldn't simply roll over and take it. She had always been the outspoken one, and everyone knew it.

Dmitry often found himself wandering into the sitting room where a stove had been set up. It was the only one they had been allowed so far, and they all ended up gathered around it sometimes to keep themselves warm in the drafty house. Its presence meant more work for Nicholas and Dmitry, who were tasked with chopping the wood to keep it running, but Dmitry didn't mind the work if it meant he was warm.

On one particular day, though, when he was tasked with bringing the chopped wood up to the pile they had in the sitting room, he discovered Tatiana curled up next to the stove with her face buried in her skirt. He knew by the way her shoulders shook that she was crying.

"Tatya?"

Tatiana cried out in surprise and lurched to her feet, keeping her face turned away from Dmitry. She didn't sniffle or wipe at her face, instead choosing to pretend that she hadn't already been caught crying and that Dmitry couldn't see that her eyes and nose were red.

"Hello, Dmitry," she said politely, still keeping her face turned. "I didn't hear you come up. I'll get out of your way."

"You don't have to do that," he said. "You were here first, and I'll only be a minute. Stay."

"No, it's fine, I don't mind." She moved to walk around him, but Dmitry set the wood down and held an arm out in front of her.

"I said you can stay," he said softly. "I was the one who intruded."

"Let me go," she breathed, trying to side step him again. Dmitry reached out and caught her sleeve.

"No," he said stubbornly, and Tatiana looked up at him sharply. He felt his stomach flip as she stared him down, uneasiness rooting him to the spot and freezing his muscles, but he still held onto her sleeve. "Don't be so self-sacrificing." Tatiana wrenched her sleeve from his fingers, but continued to stare him down. They were both very aware that this was the first time in his life that Dmitry had talked back to her. And they were both very aware that he was terrified.

"Don't tell me what to be," she finally said. "I don't have the luxury of being selfish."

"Why not?"

"Because it's my duty to-"

"Bullshit."

Tatiana recoiled as if she had been slapped. Dmitry almost laughed out loud at the look on her face. Surely, she must have heard worse than that, having been nurse to the injured, broken soldiers that fought in the Great War, and yet she reacted as if it was the first time she had heard someone swear.

"Who else will take care of Mama?" she shot back. "And Alexei. And my sisters, for that matter. They all need support, someone to lean on in these troubled times."

"And who will take care of you, if you won't?" Dmitry asked. "You have to know that you can't take care of everyone."

"I can try," she said stubbornly. "Better me than someone else."

"But isn't that exhausting?" he continued. "You spend all your energy making sure everyone else is okay. You shouldn't treat yourself as an afterthought." Tatiana fixed him with another stare, but this time he didn't feel so frightened to stare back.

"Why are you even here?" she demanded.

"I only wanted to put the wood away," he said, lowering his gaze. "I'll leave you alone in a minute."

"No, I mean why are you here in Tobolsk?" she asked. "Why did you follow us into exile? Why did any of you follow us? You should leave and get on with your lives." Dmitry laughed, and Tatiana's mouth pressed into a flat line at being laughed at.

"What life?" Dmitry said, still laughing. "Don't misunderstand, I'm not complaining. But I don't have a life outside your family."

"So make one," she said. "I can't imagine this is what you pictured for yourself as a boy."

"Maybe not, but that doesn't mean I'd just abandon all of you at the slightest sign of trouble."

"Why not? Plenty of others did, and they had been with us for years. Longer than you have."

Dmitry chewed on his lip. "Do you really think I would just leave like that?"

"No," she said. "That's what I don't understand." Dmitry bowed his head for a moment, then looked back up at her.

"Your family has raised me since I was only ten years old," he said plainly. "You have given me a home and cared for me when I had no one. I won't turn my back so easily on that."

Tatiana nodded a few times, lowering her gaze. He knew she understood, though it was plain she still thought he might be better off if he did leave. He thought, though, that now she understood that he wouldn't. Over the years he had come to think of their family as his own family, though he would never say it out loud for fear that they would be offended.

"Thank you, Dmitry," Tatiana said. "You might be crazy for willingly putting yourself through this. But no one can say you're not a good man."


	13. Chapter 13

_I'm pretty sure there's something wrong with me. All through winter break when I had nothing but time, I couldn't focus enough to write anything for this. Now that classes have started up again and I'm swamped with work, inspiration strikes. It's so backwards, it's almost funny._

* * *

Dmitry was becoming more and more certain that he had missed something vital that day that they were all told the Bolsheviks were now in charge of the country. Alexei stayed practically glued to Nicholas's side during the days, and the epaulets had suddenly gone missing from the jackets and military uniforms they wore most days. The guards looked extremely pleased with themselves when they saw the new bare shoulders of their jackets, nudging each other and smirking. Dmitry had already caught Alexei hurriedly stuffing something under his pillow and looking far too innocent when he startled the younger boy, and he didn't have to think hard to take a guess at what it had been.

And the girls had been acting strangely as well. Normally they all took advantage of the hour they were allowed to exercise outside in the yard, rotating daily which one of them stayed indoors with their mother. But in the week since things changed, none of them went outside for the allotted hour. Instead, they gathered in their parents' bedroom with Alexandra and stayed in there for hours.

The one time Dmitry happened to wander past the room on his way to the bathroom, Maria had gasped his name from the doorway and slipped out into the hall, shutting the door tightly behind her. She had smiled sheepishly at him as he passed. When he asked Anastasia what they were all doing in there all that time, she had simply told him they were arranging medicines for Alexei and Alexandra.

He didn't say it to her face, but he didn't believe a single word she said. He had a feeling she knew anyway. It was a poor excuse by anyone's standards, and Dmitry sincerely hoped it wasn't the explanation they had given the guards for whatever they were actually doing. The Red Guards didn't strike him as the brightest bunch he'd ever met, but it didn't take a genius to know that arranging medicines didn't take hours each day.

And, if he was being completely honest, it stung a bit that they didn't think he could be trusted enough to tell him what they were actually doing.

He tried not to let his bruised ego show. He liked to believe that he didn't act any differently toward the family, though they certainly did to him. Still, he found himself feeling disconnected from everyone else around him. It shouldn't have bothered him so much; he knew perfectly well that he was not, in fact, family. But even the other servants were distant.

It was strange for him, not being called upon at any moment during the day. Despite being cooped up in the house together, all the siblings suddenly seemed too busy to need him. It was a lonely feeling, and he hated it more than he hated being a prisoner in his own country.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Dmitry looked up over the top of his book, meeting Alexei's eye. The boy was propped up on the couch, warming up from helping his father chop wood that morning, and had his head tilted slightly to one side.

"I'm reading," Dmitry said, raising the book again to hide his burning cheeks.

"I can see that," Alexei said, "but what are you reading? Is it any good?"

"I don't really know."

Dmitry had nicked it out of one of the tutor's bags when their backs were turned. He had only been hoping for something new to read, and was severely disappointed when he realized the book was in another language entirely. He couldn't be sure which one it was, as he wasn't familiar with the Roman alphabet and therefore couldn't distinguish between the written languages.

He enjoyed looking at the differences between the alphabet he knew and this new one, though. When he'd managed to catch glimpses of Anastasia's letters or homework, he'd always thought that the Roman alphabet looked rather blocky and ugly. But in this book, it seemed quite elegant and fluid. He may not understand what he was looking at, but he thought he could look at it all day and still find it fascinating.

"Can I see it?" Alexei asked, sitting up straighter. Dmitry shrugged and stood from his own seat to stand by the boy. He supposed Alexei was bored of his own books by now too, and besides, maybe he could translate a bit of it for him. Alexei took the book from his hands and began scanning the page quickly. A second later, he burst out in wild laughter.

"What?" Dmitry demanded, snatching the book back from Alexei. He turned it this way and that, trying to make sense of what it said. "What's so funny?"

"Do you realize what you took?" Alexei managed to say between laughs. Tears were starting to stream down his face and he doubled over, clutching his stomach.

"A book?" Dmitry felt the heat in his cheeks rise to his ears.

"You'd better return that right away, Dmitry," Alexei said, wiping at his eyes. "It'll be a miracle if you don't get caught, he's probably already noticed it's gone."

"I still don't understand," Dmitry scowled.

"That book is Monsieur Gillard's diary!" Alexei dissolved into a fresh wave of laughter, and Dmitry had to suppress the urge to fling the book across the room and away from him. Suddenly he was very glad he couldn't understand what was written. Perhaps he'd be in less trouble that way.

"Well how was I supposed to know that?" Dmitry mumbled, feeling nettled.

"Weren't you suspicious when you saw the handwriting?" Alexei had managed to compose himself enough to talk normally again, giggling only every few seconds so.

"That doesn't necessarily mean it's a diary," Dmitry tried to argue.

"Well what else would it be?"

"I don't know, a book of poems?" Dmitry scowled as Alexei began to laugh in earnest again, and stalked out of the room, taking the diary with him. Now he had to figure out how to slip the diary back into the tutor's bag without him noticing, something that he felt would be absolutely impossible. He felt incredibly foolish, now. How would he be able to explain why he took it in the first place? If he had been so bored with what he'd had to read, he could have simply asked their tutor if he had something. Or better yet, he could have asked one of the girls to borrow a book. How stupid he was to not have done that first.

He knocked on the girls' closed bedroom door though he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, a book or advice on how to get out of trouble. Those thoughts went out the window and confusion took its place, though, when he heard a squeal of surprise and what sounded like beads hitting the floor. Someone shushed whoever had cried out. Dmitry started to open the door even though he hadn't been told he could do so, but before the door was open even an inch someone threw their weight against it, slamming it shut and narrowly missing his nose.

"Just a minute!" Tatiana's voice called out.

"Is everything okay?" Dmitry asked hesitantly.

"Everything's fine!"

A few seconds later, a very harassed looking Olga opened the door. Beyond her, her sisters were arranged in various places of the room, trying hard to appear casual. Unfortunately for them, they weren't very convincing, as Anastasia was sitting on top of her bunched-up blanket on her bed, and Maria was on their couch staring hard a book and very plainly not reading. One of the girl's coats was pooled on the floor by the foot of one of the beds.

"Oh, Mitya, it's just you," Olga breathed, visibly relaxing a bit. "We thought you might have been a guard."

Tatiana, on the other hand, stiffened. "Olga," she snapped. "You know what Mama said." Anastasia threw a glare at Tatiana, who didn't see.

"I know what Mama said," Olga reassured her. "I only said I was glad he wasn't a guard."

"Can we close the door?" Maria asked in a small voice, peeking over the top of her book. Tatiana glanced at her sister and then stared at Dmitry once again, plainly waiting for him to leave.

"Where's Alexei?" she asked. "He might need something. Why don't you go check on him?" Dmitry folded his arms against his chest and stared back at Tatiana.

"I was just with him, and I know for a fact he doesn't need anything," he said. "Besides, I'm sure that if I went back to him right now, he'd hurt himself by laughing too hard."

"And why is that?" Tatiana asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I'd… rather not say," Dmitry said, feeling his cheeks burn again. A mistake; at his words, Anastasia perked up, a wicked grin on her face. Dmitry felt his stomach plunge to his toes.

"What did you do?" she asked brightly, still grinning. "Are you in trouble?"

"Not yet. It was an accident," he tried to explain.

"Well, spit it out," Tatiana said briskly. "We haven't got all day."

"I was only looking for a new book to read, and I stole your tutor's diary," Dmitry mumbled, hanging his head.

There was a beat of silence in which all four sisters stared at him. Then, the little pair erupted into giggles.

Maria at least had the grace to try and hide it behind her book, though it didn't offer much disguise. Anastasia, on the other hand, made no attempt to hide her amusement. A small part of Dmitry was glad that she was at least laughing. Everyone had been so gloomy for the past week, and seeing her laugh so hard made him feel as if nothing had changed. The larger part of him, though, bristled at being laughed at for the second time in under ten minutes.

"It's not that funny," he protested.

"It's not funny at all," Tatiana said, but she was alone in her sentiment. Even Olga had the tiniest smirk on her face, as if she were trying to hold in her own laughter for the sake of Dmitry's ego.

Anastasia, in her mirth, fell from her bed, taking the blanket with her. She remained oblivious, still laughing hysterically, but Tatiana blanched and Olga launched herself toward her youngest sister's bed. In one swift move, she tugged the blanket from underneath Anastasia and draped it back over her bed, but it was too late. Dmitry's eyes had gone wide, staring at the piles of jewels on the bed that were once again hidden by the blanket. He suddenly had a horrible feeling about what was underneath the coat on the floor. Tatiana grabbed his arm and yanked him the rest of the way into the room and then shut the door firmly behind him.

"Anastasia Nikolaevna!" she hissed at her sister, who was no longer giggling. "Why are you always so careless?"

"I didn't do it on purpose," Anastasia shot back.

"She's the one who's careless?" Dmitry asked, finding his voice again. "What do you think you're doing with those out? With all the Red Guards in this place?" Maria laid her book down and stood.

"Mama said we-"

"Maria!" Tatiana barked. Maria shot a glare at her sister. "Mama said we can tell no one, not even the ones we trust most."

"And what good did that do?" Maria scowled. "We might as well tell him, he's already seen the 'medicines'."

" _That's_ what you're doing when you tell me you're arranging medicines?" Dmitry asked. Tatiana threw her hands in the air and made a sound of outrage while Maria clamped her mouth shut. Tatiana stormed from the room, slamming the door shut again. Olga ripped the blanket down and began gathering up the assorted gems and jewels on the mattress.

"Quickly," she said, "let's get these away. The guards might be coming soon with all the door slamming." Anastasia and Maria both swept forward to help their sister, concealing the treasures away in bags and clothes. Olga took the largest, most ornate gems and tucked them away in a pouch, then knelt under her bed and concealed the pouch under a loose floor board. Within seconds, it was as if the gems had never been there.

"Do you think she'll tell Mama?" Maria asked meekly.

"I don't know, Mashka," Olga said, stroking her sister's hair to reassure her. "It's not your fault though. We should have had someone guarding the door better."

"What exactly were you doing with those?" Dmitry asked. The sisters shared a glance.

"We're concealing them," Olga said finally. "For safe keeping. No one outside our family was supposed to know."

"Mama wanted to make sure they didn't take them from us, too," Anastasia added. "So we've been sewing them into our jackets and corsets. Even some pillows, if we can."

"Is there any way I can help you?" Dmitry asked after a few seconds. "I could help you conceal them."

His words made the sisters snicker softly again.

"Do you even know how to sew, Mitya?" Maria asked.

"I can learn," Dmitry said defensively. "I want to help." Olga looped her arm through his and bent her head close to his.

"The best way you can help us is by acting as though you never saw anything," she said conspiratorially. "The guards would be suspicious if you were caught doing women's work. We've got it handled. You should focus on returning that diary."


	14. Chapter 14

It was amazingly difficult, Anastasia was discovering, to hide Christmas presents when you shared a room with most of your siblings. It had been bad enough when it was just her and Maria in a room together, because no matter how innocently Maria presented herself, she had a habit of going out of her way to try and find out what people were giving her.

The task was made even more difficult now that even most of their entourage wasn't allowed to go out into town, even escorted by guards. Only a select few had that freedom anymore, and only on specific days. Daria, one of her mother's ladies in waiting, came back one evening steaming at the ears, ranting about how she had been watched like a hawk. There would be almost no chance to give any of the servants money and ask them to pick something up.

That only left the option to make everyone's gifts. The upside to it was that everyone else was so preoccupied with making their own gifts that no one had the time or energy to do any serious snooping.

It had been easy enough to think of things to make for her family. The Big Pair was always reading such large books and sticking random scraps of paper in them to mark their places, so bookmarks were the obvious choice for them. A new handmade diary for Maria; it wasn't the prettiest thing in the world, made mostly from scraps she had been able to pinch, but Maria had almost filled up her last diary and had had no chance to get a new one. All four of the girls were working on a new photo album for their parents, made up mostly of the photos they had taken and developed in the last few months. The only one she couldn't think of anything for was Dmitry.

He'd always been the most impossible to buy or make gifts for. He never asked for anything and he never dropped hints. Of course, that never stopped anyone from giving him gifts, but they tended to be on the more practical side. In the past he'd received plenty of shoes, shirts, jackets, and pants and he thanked everyone profusely the entire time. But those wouldn't be possible this year.

Anastasia glanced out the window and down into the yard where her father and Dmitry were chopping wood as they did every day. Alexei was with them again, though it didn't appear her brother was doing much work. Instead, he wandered around the yard slowly, careful not to trip over something or bump into anything too hard. She watched as Dmitry took a break for a few seconds to stomp his feet and cup his hands over his mouth so he could blow warm air into them. She couldn't help but think he was crazy for going outside without anything to keep him warm.

An idea struck her suddenly and she tore down the stairs and through the house, earning quite a few glares and shouts from the Red Guards. When she reached the room she shared with her sisters, they all cried out in surprise as she flew through the door and practically dove under her bed. It didn't take long for her to find what she was looking for, and she plopped herself down on the opposite end of the couch that Olga was sitting on, either oblivious to or ignoring the looks her sisters were giving her.

That was where Dmitry found her a couple of hours later, still knitting dutifully. The Big Pair had vacated the room by then, but Maria remained in her chair at the end of her bed, also knitting. Anastasia already had a small pile of socks and hats on the floor next to her feet. Dmitry assumed it was another thing their mother had come up with to keep to keep their hands busy and out of trouble.

He'd noticed she'd been doing that more and more frequently over the past few months. In the past it had been needlework or painting, but now that it was colder he couldn't even pretend to be surprised that they had begun knitting.

"You've turned that one twice," Maria pointed out as Dmitry poked his head in.

"Have I?" Anastasia asked, looking surprised. She held the needles out a few inches farther, examining the sock. "Damn!"

"Comrade Romanova!" Dmitry boomed from the doorway, making both girls jump, then laugh in relief when they saw it was only Dmitry. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"What Mama doesn't know won't kill her," Anastasia shrugged, and Maria nodded with her sister.

"And what if I had been her?" Dmitry asked, smirking as he leaned against the door jamb. "Then she would have heard you."

"We knew she wouldn't be down here," Maria said simply. "She always spends her afternoons with in her bedroom."

"Or with Alyosha," Anastasia added. Maria nodded.

"Or with Alyosha," she agreed. "Speaking of him, I think it's my turn to distract him for the afternoon. My hands are hurting anyway." Maria set her knitting on her bed and stretched her aching fingers.

"Distract him from what?" Dmitry asked. To his knowledge, the boy hadn't hurt himself in months, so he didn't understand what he had to be distracted from. It could be that the family knew something he didn't. His stomach rolled when the sisters shared a look that plainly said they were debating telling him something.

"You have to promise you won't tell Alexei," Maria said seriously. She gave him a pointed look as he shook his head.

"I won't," he said.

"You have to swear it," Anastasia said, leaping to her feet. "Swear that on pain of death, you won't tell Alexei anything."

"I promise, I swear," Dmitry said, holding his hands up. His heart was beginning to hammer against his ribcage. What could they possibly want him to keep from their brother?

Anastasia crossed to the writing desk in the corner of their room and opened its drawer. From it, she pulled a small tin. Something inside it rattled as she closed the drawer again and opened the lid.

"It's for Christmas," Anastasia said. She held the tin out to him and he nervously peeked at it. Alexei's tin soldiers laid inside the box; some had been freshly painted while others were still looking rather dull. "We wanted to surprise him."

" _That's_ all it was?" Dmitry asked in annoyance. Leave it to Anastasia to make something as simple as a Christmas surprise so dramatic.

"It's all we could think to do," Maria said. "We've been taking turns keeping him busy while the other one repaints them. Do you think he'll like it?"

"I'm sure he will," he said truthfully. Maria beamed at him and then at Anastasia before all but skipping from the room to find their brother. Anastasia set the tin on the desk before rummaging in Tatiana's trunk. Dmitry raised an eyebrow at her, recalling the fight between the two of them when they had first arrived in Tobolsk.

"Don't give me that look," she said. "Tatya knows I've been taking her paints. She's the one who offered to let us use them."

"As long as she knows," he said. He didn't particularly want to listen to another fight, and could only imagine what the guards would have to say about the commotion they'd cause.

"It's not like she does much with them anymore," Anastasia said, rolling her eyes. "I can't remember the last time she painted anything, so they might as well be put to good use." She set the paints and brushes on the desk and plucked one of the soldiers out of the tin. Dmitry watched as she began to repaint the soldier, slightly amused at the sight. It was a little strange to see Anastasia, who was normally so reckless and wild, being as careful as she was with the paintbrush, and he couldn't help the few chuckles that escaped him. Anastasia pursed her lips at the sound, but didn't say anything.

"I need your help," he said after a few minutes of silence. Anastasia glanced at him, her tongue poking out from between her lips in concentration, then set the tin soldier down.

"What is it?"

"I don't know what to do for your family's Christmas presents," he admitted. In the past he had gotten them all little trinkets- ribbons, books, toys and such. But now that they were all locked up in the house, he wouldn't have a chance to get them anything. He knew the children were all making their gifts for each other, but Dmitry had never even attempted to make anything.

"You don't have to worry about that," Anastasia said. "Honestly, the fact that you've been loyal enough to stay is enough of a gift to us. You don't need to give us anything." Dmitry shook his head, frowning.

"It wouldn't feel right," he insisted. "I don't need you to make anything for me, I just need ideas."

"I'm fresh out of ideas myself," Anastasia sighed. "I had the hardest time coming up with ideas after a while." She picked up the tin soldier again, but this time she was frowning as she continued to repaint it.

Dmitry cast his eyes around the room, hoping something might inspire him. There was very little to be found. The girls hadn't been allowed to decorate their room much, so the only things adorning their walls were photographs and small paintings they'd saved. There was a small stack of letters on one of the nightstands, and a few books on another. Dmitry's eyes landed on the pile of socks Anastasia had knitted.

"Can you teach me to knit?" he asked suddenly, lurching to his feet and picking up her discarded knitting needles. The sock she had messed up was still attached.

"What?" she asked incredulously.

"I can knit something for everyone," he said. "It doesn't have to be anything fancy."

Anastasia considered him for a moment before shrugging. "I suppose it's as good an idea as any."

* * *

Dmitry, as it turned out, was not a good student. No matter how hard he had tried, he just couldn't seem to fully grasp knitting. After an hour of trying to teach him, Anastasia had thrown her hands in the air and announced that he would just have to knit scarves for everyone.

And even those had turned out lumpy and uneven.

It had taken him weeks to improve enough to even consider giving the finished products as gifts, but in the end he finished them and wrapped them all just in time for the holiday. He wouldn't say that it was the best-looking wrapping he had ever done, but considering they only had so many things available to them, Dmitry was quite proud of them.

The family and their entourage had gathered in the sitting room for Christmas service before they exchanged gifts. The girls, as they did every year, eagerly passed out the presents to everyone. They called out the names on the wrappings and delivered them to each person, with Anastasia becoming a little too excited and tossing some presents to people and earning her a stern look from her mother.

Dmitry was a little surprised at his pile of presents, if he was being completely honest to himself. Each of the children had made him something, apparently, and he even had a gift from Alexandra and Nicholas, too. It was more than he had been expecting, and too his embarrassment he found he had to turn his head for a few seconds to swipe at his eyes quickly.

"Open mine last, Mitya!" Alexei called, bouncing eagerly in a way that made him seem much younger than his thirteen years. Dmitry smiled and picked up a gift from one of the girls.

It appeared that they had all had the same idea for him, not that he minded in the slightest. As he opened each present to reveal another piece of knitted clothing, he laughed and put it on. In the end, he sat there with four pairs of socks on, two pairs each from Anastasia and Maria, a scarf from Tatiana, a pair of Mittens from Olga, and a waistcoat from Alexandra and Nicholas. They all laughed with him when he was done, with Olga taking a picture of him, and each of them put on the lumpy scarves he had made for them.

Finally, he picked up Alexei's gift, as it seemed the boy would explode from excitement if he didn't do so soon. The wrapping fell away to reveal a small book and a hand-painted bookmark. Dmitry thumbed through the pages and discovered that they were all blank.

"It's a diary for you," Alexei said, a wide grin on his face. "Now you won't need to steal Monsieur Gillard's!" Everyone in the room hooted with laughter as Dmitry felt his face burn. He quickly thanked Alexei, then hid the diary behind his back where no one could see it.

He managed to corner Anastasia alone after dinner that night. She was sitting in front of the window that had been nailed shut, staring out, but she turned and smiled when he approached.

"It reminds me of Christmas at home," she said, gesturing to the town outside. "I hope someday we'll be allowed to go back. I miss the grand tree in the courtyard."

"Maybe someday," Dmitry said, though they both knew he didn't believe a word of it. Still, it was Christmas, and he wasn't about to ruin it for her. "I have something for you."

"What do you mean?" Anastasia looked at him quizzically. He had already given her the scarf he had made for her, even though she knew what it was before he'd handed it to her.

"You'll see. Close your eyes," he said.

"Why?" she demanded.

"Just do it, Anastasia. It's nothing bad," he huffed. She eyed him suspiciously for a moment longer, then reluctantly closed her eyes. "Now, hold out your hand."

"Don't put anything gross on my hand," she warned, but held her hand out anyway. Dmitry reached into his pocket and gently dropped the item into her outstretched palm.

"Okay, you can open your eyes."

She obeyed, then quietly gasped as she saw the thin gold chain lying in her hand. "Dmitry, where did you get this?" she asked, holding it up. Her mind was spinning, trying to figure out how he had managed to buy it and get it into the house.

"I had a little help from Daria," he smiled at her. "I gave her the money when she was sent on errands, and then she hid it in her shoe."

Anastasia looked up at him, her expression unreadable. "This must have cost you a fortune. You shouldn't have spent that money. You should have saved it for something else." To anyone else, she might have sounded ungrateful, but Dmitry knew she didn't mean it that way.

"Well, it's too late for that," he said. "I know it's simple, and not fancy like anything else you owned, but I hope you still like it."

Anastasia threw her arms around him, knocking his breath out of him, and hugged him tight. "Of course, I like it," she said. "I love it. Thank you, Dmitry." She released him, giving him a small smile, then raised the chain to her neck and fastened it there. She turned to examine her reflection in the window. The chain, like Dmitry had said, was much simpler and any other piece of jewelry she owned, but she found she already loved it more than the rest. She slipped her hand into Dmitry's.

"Thank you," she said again, still beaming. "It's the best Christmas gift I've ever gotten."

"I'm glad you like it so much," he smiled back. He had worried over it for a week, terrified that she would hate it. It was a relief seeing her reaction to it.

"Can I ask you to do something?" she asked him suddenly, biting her lip.

"Anything." There were a few seconds of silence in which Anastasia shifted her weight from foot to foot and continued chewing on her lip.

"Will you kiss me, Dmitry?"

Dmitry froze, his eyes wide open. Anastasia suddenly looked very nervous, watching his face. "Excuse me?"

"I want you to kiss me," she repeated. "I used to dream my first kiss would be with a handsome prince in Paris. But I don't think I want that anymore."

"I can't," Dmitry said, stumbling over the words. Anastasia took a small step forward and peered up at him earnestly.

"Please," she said quietly. "For me?" Dmitry shifted uncomfortably.

"Close your eyes," he said again, barely above a whisper.

She did, tipping her head up slightly. Dmitry swallowed hard, feeling his heart beat faster and faster. He wondered if Anastasia couldn't hear it. It certainly seemed like she should be able to. After a second, he closed his own eyes and leaned his head down.

"I can't," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. He felt her brow wrinkle under his, but neither of them pulled away.

"Yes, you can," she urged him.

"I can't," he repeated. And he couldn't, in good consciousness, do it. Of the very few people allowed to see the family, he was the only one close to her age. If, whenever they were finally released, she realized she had only asked him to kiss her for lack of other suitors, he didn't think he'd be able to bear it.

"Please," she begged him again, pulling herself closer to him.

"No," he said firmly, pulling away from her. "I don't want you to do something you might regret later."

Then, without meeting her eye, he turned and fled down the stairs, away from her.


	15. Chapter 15

They did not talk about what happened at Christmas. In fact, for a few days, they didn't talk at all.

Anastasia knew she was being childish every time she gave Dmitry the cold shoulder. She knew she wasn't being fair. On a logical level, she thought she could understand why he hadn't wanted to kiss her. Although her family had been stripped of their titles and posts, at her core she was still a Grand Duchess of Russia. And he was a boy who had been in her family's service for almost half his life. She knew he viewed himself as lower than her, no matter how many times they had all insisted otherwise. Perhaps he thought he was doing her a favor, by not kissing her.

Of course, that didn't make the rejection sting any less, and so for a few days she allowed herself to be immature as her ego healed. She couldn't pretend to not see the expression on his face every time she left the room the moment he walked in, nor could she pretend it didn't give her a vicious kind of satisfaction to see him hurting as she was. She hated herself for taking pleasure in hurting him, though. And her sisters, of course, noticed everything. Maria had even cornered her one day and questioned her about it, but she only gave vague answers in response and her sister dropped the matter when she saw that she wouldn't get anything out of her.

She still wore the gold chain he had given her though, hoping it would be enough to save their friendship once she felt ready to talk to him again. If anyone noticed its sudden presence around her neck, no one said a thing.

Of course, right now it wasn't like anyone could see it. It was tucked under her scarf and coat as she stood in the cold winter air. It had finally snowed five days after Christmas, and she and her siblings were building a snow mountain. Some nuns from a convent down the street had gifted them toboggans for Christmas, and they were all determined to put them to good use. She and Olga were in charge of building the mountain, while Tatiana and Maria carried out buckets of water to make it extra slippery. If she stood in the right spot, she could pretend they were still back at the Winter Palace.

She and Olga straightened briefly as Tatiana and Maria came back with the water and carefully poured it down the side. It came up to Olga's waist, now, and Anastasia was proud of the progress they'd made so far, even if it was still rather small.

"So, what happened?" Olga muttered to her as Tatiana and Maria dashed back inside with the buckets.

"What do you mean?" Anastasia asked as she bent to pile more snow on the small mountain.

"What happened between you and Dmitry?" she clarified. Anastasia blanched and her eyes darted over to where Dmitry stood with her father, chopping wood as always.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said stiffly, stalking away to gather more snow. Olga followed her.

"Yes, you do," she said. "Now, normally you know I wouldn't get involved in whatever is going on between the two of you."

"Then why are you?" Anastasia interrupted.

"Because I can't stand watching him stare at you like a kicked puppy anymore," Olga said gently. "The two of you have been friends for almost a decade. Surely whatever happened couldn't have ended that so suddenly."

"And if it did?" Anastasia shot back.

"I don't believe that for a second," Olga said simply. "And I don't think you do either."

Anastasia watched her sister retreat back to the mountain, then kicked at the snow in frustration. Sometimes Olga made her so mad, with her annoyingly insightful comments, and she had a feeling her oldest sister knew it. Anastasia suddenly wanted to stick snow in Olga's coat even though she knew it wouldn't solve anything.

Instead, she continued to help build the snow mountain in a huffy silence. Olga at least seemed amused by her reaction, though Maria hesitated when she came back out and saw Anastasia's expression. Tatiana alone tried to act as if she hadn't noticed anything going on, and when Alexei came charging from the house the two of them chattered away.

When the snow mountain was done, all of the siblings climbed carefully to the top. There was barely enough room for them all to stand together, even huddled so close Anastasia could feel Maria's breath on her cheek. They could easily see over the fence, and Anastasia and Alexei jumped and waved to the people passing by. A few even waved back, earning giddy grins and laughs from the younger siblings. Then, Maria's foot slipped, and they all laughed as she went screaming down the side of the mountain, her arms and legs splayed as she came to a stop at the base. Olga slid down on her stomach after her, laughing, followed closely by Anastasia who rammed into her sisters with a wild shout. Tatiana looked at them disapprovingly from the top of the mountain as they lay in a giggling heap.

"Come on down!" Maria shouted to their sister and brother at the top of the mountain. "It's fun!" Anastasia shook the snow from her hair and nodded. Tatiana rolled her eyes, but sat down at the top of the hill anyway. She motioned for Alexei to sit down on her lap then latched her arms firmly around his middle, and the two of them slid down carefully that way.

Dmitry, who had looked up at the commotion when Maria fell, shook his head and turned his attention back to the woodpile. Seeing that, Anastasia gathered up as much snow as she could, packing it into a tight ball. Behind her, she could hear her sisters scrambling back up the hill, laughing and yelling as they went. She held a finger up to her lips as her father watched her approach, then lobbed the snowball at the back of Dmitry's head where it broke apart in a dramatic spray. He looked up in shock, a dark scowl crossing his face as snow dripped from his hair down his face.

"It's your turn to slide down," she said, gesturing to the hill.

"I'm busy," he said coldly, turning away. Nicholas gently pried the axe away from Dmitry's hands as Anastasia threw another snowball.

"The Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov orders you to slide down the mountain with her," she said loudly. A few nearby guards' faces soured, but she stuck her tongue out at them and turned away.

Having no excuse, Dmitry grabbed one of the toboggans from where they lay discarded in the yard and marched up the hill without even a glance at her. Anastasia scrambled to climb up after him, and by the time she got to the top he had already set the toboggan down and perched himself on top of it.

"Climb on," he said flatly, still without looking at her. Anastasia frowned at the back of his head, then launched herself at his back. Dmitry grunted as her weight hit him and her momentum threw them forward. She laughed and he yelled as they went careening down the slope, flew across the yard and crashed into the fence. The guards shouted at them from their posts, and Anastasia rolled off the toboggan, still laughing.

"Are you trying to kill us?" Dmitry shouted, rolling off as well.

"Don't pretend it wasn't fun," she said. Dmitry's cheek twitched, like he was fighting back either a smile or another scowl. He began to stomp away from her, to her dismay, but then Alexei lunged forward and grabbed his arm.

"Slide down with me, Mitya!" he begged, his cheeks flushed from the cold and exertion. Dmitry opened his mouth to protest, but Alexei was already dragging him back toward the hill. Anastasia watched as they settled themselves on the toboggan and slid down the hill, taking care not to jostle Alexei too much. She darted out of their path, her ego smarting once again and she saw Dmitry's small smile.

Anastasia allowed herself to be pulled up the mountain a few more times by Maria, but suddenly all the joy was gone for her. She had known Dmitry was upset by her continued silence, but she hadn't expected it to turn to anger so quickly. It felt as if a pit had opened up in her chest, getting wider and wider each time she saw Dmitry laughing with her siblings. Before long, she turned and slunk back into the house and pretended she couldn't feel the tears stinging her eyes.

Later that afternoon, she slipped into Alexei's room. He was pacing around the small space with a book in his hand, but he seemed far too upset to be paying any real attention to it. She wasn't entirely sure where Dmitry was at the moment, but she wasn't too worried about it, especially when Alexei tossed his book down on his bed and threw himself on the couch in the room.

"Mama won't let me slide down the mountain anymore," he huffed, staring darkly out the window at their hill. "It's not fair."

Anastasia felt guilt twist in her stomach. "It's probably for the best," she offered softly. Alexei turned his head to scowl at her.

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," he muttered.

"She's only trying to look out for you," she said, grabbing her brother's hand. "It's what our Mama does best."

"But I haven't gotten hurt in months," Alexei whined. "And Dmitry was careful. He'd never let anything happen to me."

"I know. But I'd also rather you didn't get hurt," she said. "It tears my heart out to see you in pain and know I can't do anything to help you."

"It's not fair," Alexei said again, but there was more resignation in his tone.

"How about this?" she asked, sitting up a bit straighter. "I won't slide down it either, not if you're allowed to. We'll find some other way to have fun outside."

"Don't be ridiculous," he told her, rolling his eyes. "You worked so hard on it, you might as well enjoy it."

Anastasia shook her head vehemently, drawing an 'X' with her finger over her heart. "Cross my heart," she said. "I don't like rubbing things in your face. We'll find something else to do." Alexei gave her a grateful smile, leaning forward to throw his arms around her.

"Maybe Dmitry has some ideas," he offered, his smile turning sly. "You should go ask him."

"You do it," Anastasia said, her smile disappearing. "It was your idea."

"Oh, please, Nastya. You're just looking for an excuse not to talk to him anymore." Alexei fixed her with a stare as she leapt to her feet.

"Don't be ridiculous," she seethed. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Alexei asked without rising. "You forget I share a room with him, now. And besides that, he is my friend. We talk."

Anastasia seriously doubted Alexei knew the whole story. She couldn't imagine Dmitry would tell anyone what she has asked of him on Christmas, least of all her little brother. And yet, looking at Alexei's expression, she found she was unwilling to call his bluff. When his grin grew bigger, she knew he knew.

"I'm pretty sure he's upstairs."

Anastasia puffed out her cheeks, so angry she could spit, then turned on her heel and marched from the room. All of her siblings needed to mind their own business and leave her alone, she thought. They were all far too nosy for their own good. Even still, she stomped her way up the stairs to the sitting room, making sure that whoever was up there could make no mistake about who was coming.

What she was not prepared for, however, was seeing Dmitry slam a book on his lap closed as she reached the top of the stairs and give her a sheepish look that quickly turned into another scowl. Tatiana sat on the other side of him, rolling her eyes.

"What are you doing?" she asked both of them. She glanced from one to the other, then down at the book Dmitry was holding.

"Nothing," he said quickly. Tatiana laughed once.

"He's learning to read," she said, standing and stretching. "He practically begged me to teach him."

"I did not!"

"But you know how to read," Anastasia said.

"He wanted to learn to read English," Tatiana yawned.

"Tatiana!"

"Anyway," she continued as if Dmitry hadn't spoken, "I think I need a break. I'm sure Mama or Alyosha needs something." Anastasia stiffened as Tatiana brushed by her and hissed, " _Be nice,_ " in her ear.

Across the room, Dmitry was making a big show of opening the book again, which Anastasia quickly recognized as the book she and her siblings themselves had all learned from, and burying his nose back in it. His eyes tracked their way across the page at a pace that told her he had no idea what he was reading and was just pretending for the sake of ignoring her.

"Look," she said. "I know I've been horrible to you the past few days."

Dmitry didn't react except a slight stiffening around his shoulders and another wrinkle appearing in his forehead.

"You have every right to be mad at me," she continued. "I'm sorry for how I've been acting, and I hope you're still my best friend. If you don't want to talk to me for a while, I'll understand, and when you feel ready I'll be here." She began to go back down the stairs and leave him in peace.

"You can't just keep running away from your problems." She turned her head toward him again, but he was still pretending to read the book.

"I know that," she admitted.

"In here especially, because there's only so far you can run." He lowered the book and finally looked at her. "But even when we leave this place and can return to life on the outside, you can't do that anymore. You should know by now that running doesn't fix anything."

Anastasia wanted, so badly, to snap at him. She wanted to ask when he had gotten so wise and sagely, and if she should begin calling him philosopher or a scholar. But with their relationship in such a precarious spot, she knew those comments would be the ones that would sever it. So she bit back the words that were already bubbling up her throat.

"Like I said, I know I've been acting like a child."

"You definitely have," he agreed, too eagerly. She felt her face contort into a frown. He didn't have to be so smug about it.

"Can you blame me for being a little hurt?" she said waspishly before she could think.

"Can you blame me for being cautious?" Dmitry shot back. He raised the book again, and Anastasia struggled to suppress the urge to fly across the room and knock it from his hands.

"I didn't come here to fight," she ground out around her clenched teeth.

"I know," Dmitry said. But the corner of his mouth turned up the tiniest bit. This time Anastasia did stomp across the room and snatch the book away.

"You're baiting me," she said. "You want me to get all worked up, don't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he told her, but he continued to smirk just the tiniest bit.

"You're infuriating," she cried, tossing the book at him. He caught it with ease, much to her annoyance. "I'll bet you're not even mad at me anymore."

"Not as infuriating as you," he replied calmly. "I am still annoyed, by the way. Besides, it's funny to see you start spluttering when you're mad. Call it payback, if you want to."

"Isn't hearing me say I'm sorry enough for you?" she said, planting her hands on her hips. "That in itself should be payback, considering how rare it is."

"It's an added bonus," he grinned at her. "Now, if we're done yelling at each other, would you mind helping me learn to read?"

Anastasia did sit down next to him and hold her hand out for the book, but she muttered the entire time, much to Dmitry's amusement, about where she thought he could stick it.


	16. Chapter 16

_Hey guys, I'm super sorry about disappearing there for about two weeks. School has gotten pretty crazy in almost no time at all. This one is more of a filler chapter. Initially I had planned on adding more, but I couldn't get it right and I wanted to at least get something out to you guys. I really appreciate your patience! Enjoy!_

* * *

Dmitry stood atop the snow mountain, shielding his eyes against the bright winter sun. Below him, Anastasia and Alexei were busy making snow angels, though with little success since the snow had turned icy and hard. The Big Pair was somewhere inside the house with their mother, and Maria was lounging on the swings across the yard. On the surface, it seemed to be a very peaceful scene. But if someone were to look closer, they would see a very different picture.

Even from atop the hill, Dmitry could hear Anastasia and Alexei muttering to each other. He mentally applauded their attempt to at least be subtle about it, though they could use a few more pointers. Maria's face was mostly hidden, but he still knew there was a troubled expression on it as she threw glances every few minutes to her parents' bedroom window. Dmitry had a feeling that's where Olga and Tatiana were sitting with Alexandra.

He knew (though the former empress didn't know he knew) that they were busy sewing the rest of their jewels into coats again. They had already concealed the bulk of their "medicines", but now had decided it was time for them to hide most of their jewelry too. They all kept a few pieces on, so as not to arouse suspicion, but the rest was hastily being sewn into the linings of their coats and skirts.

Nicholas was in the new Commandant's office, and had been for hours so far. None of them had a clue why. Anastasia had even tiptoed past the door a few times, and reported that she couldn't hear anything they were saying with any clarity.

Yakovlev seemed decent enough, for a Bolshevik. At the very least, he was as polite to the family as Pankratov and Kobylinsky had been. He had even effectively shocked them all into silence when he exchanged a few words with Monsieur Gillard in French.

The same could not be said for the new guards. Most of the old ones had been sent away that morning, the official excuse being that good officers like them should be helping keep the cities safe and the country running smoothly. But it could not be a coincidence that all the ones sent away were the ones who were friendliest with the family. The new guards and the old ones who remained were suddenly under strict orders not to speak with any of the family or their servants unless it was for official reasons.

"You! Boy!" Dmitry startled as a guard began marching through the snow, hand resting on his gun. "Get down from there!"

Though he longed to answer back to the guard, Dmitry scrambled to obey. As much as he liked making the guards' lives a little bit harder, he liked the current arrangement of his face more. His nose still throbbed sometimes in extreme cold, and he wasn't looking to relive that particular incident.

"Is there a problem?" he asked when he was finally on the ground again and level with the guard who was still sneering at him.

"We've been told not to allow anyone on top of that pile of snow."

"But he wasn't doing anything," Alexei protested from where he sat in the snow. "He didn't even look at anyone on the outside."

"It's for all of your safety, Comrade Romanov," the guard said stiffly. "There has been unrest in the streets. You are not allowed up there for the same reason you're not allowed to sit on the roof anymore. Commandant Yakovlev will not be taking any chances with your safety." The guard turned and walked back to his post, his hand still on his gun.

"Unrest in the streets," Anastasia scoffed. "If there was unrest in the streets, we would have heard it."

Dmitry only glanced longingly at the summit of the snow mountain that had brought so much fun to their lives for a few weeks, now. Though Anastasia and Alexei hadn't gone sledding down it after that first day, he and the other girls had made a habit of sliding down it during most of the hour they were allowed outside. It seemed cruel to take away that source of joy, especially when they had all worked so hard on it.

Dmitry drifted over to the swings, and Maria nodded at him briefly before turning her gaze back to the window. She didn't acknowledge him in any other way as he sat down on the swing next to her. He wished she wouldn't be so obvious about staring at the window; he worried the guards might catch her and become suspicious.

"I just hope they're not interrupted," Maria said when he told her as much. "I get the feeling these guards wouldn't believe anything we told them, even if it was the truth." Dmitry nodded, risking a glance at the window as well. He had stumbled upon their secret because they were careless and left the door mostly unguarded, but their mother also hadn't been there to manage that. He thought, or at least hoped, that Alexandra wouldn't make that mistake.

Nicholas suddenly emerged from the house, the new Commandant following a step behind him. Dmitry watched them as they walked around the perimeter. Beside him, Maria inhaled sharply, and straightened just the tiniest bit. Even Anastasia and Alexei stopped whatever game they had made up to stare. Nicholas alone looked unperturbed at Yakovlev's presence.

"My three youngest children," Dmitry heard him say as they crossed the yard. "Alexei and Anastasia are the ones in the snow. Maria is on the swings."

"And the boy?" Both men turned to stare at him, and Dmitry suddenly felt much younger than his nineteen years under their scrutiny.

"Dmitry, my son's companion," Nicholas said warmly, offering him a smile. "He's a good, strong lad, an orphan who has been in our service for almost a decade. In another life, he could have been a proper son of mine."

Beneath his coat and scarf, Dmitry felt himself flush. Maria squeezed his fingers and offered him a bright grin. Nicholas and Yakovlev turned and started back toward the house, but Dmitry wasn't listening to a word they were saying anymore.

Of course, for a while now, he had felt as if he might as well be family, even before their arrest in St. Petersburg. Privately, he had come to think of himself as an extra almost-sibling to the imperial children, though he never told anyone that. Alexandra was the only mother figure he could remember. And Nicholas, to his credit, never tried to act like a parent to him and trod on his father's memory, but Dmitry had grown to wish he had the right to call him Papa.

That was not to say Dmitry renounced his true lineage, he still loved his father dearly and thought of him often, but he also loved this family that had opened their home and their hearts to him. He could not imagine everyone would be so kind, especially not other royal families.

For a moment he allowed himself to wonder what his life might have been like if he had been born the son of the Tsar. He would have grown up speaking a collection of languages, and would have gotten a formal education. Upon being hired as Alexei's companion, he was taught to read and write, as it would not do for a high-ranking servant such as him to be illiterate. But as an imperial child he would have learned so much more.

He would never had known what it was like to go to sleep hungry and cold. If he had been born healthy, without Alexei's disease, he would not have been a pampered little prince, but he would not have lived in squalor on the streets.

He tried to picture himself dressed as Alexei always was. There would have been plenty of official portraits of him in addition to the private family photos the girls always took. He would have been the third child, right in the middle with Maria, but he would have carried the title of Tsarevich, being older than Alexei. Tsarevich Dmitry Romanov, heir to the throne of all Russia. That thought made him wrinkle his nose. He didn't think he'd ever want the responsibility of governing any country, never mind the largest country in the world.

Dmitry shook himself out of that line of thought as the guards announced that their time outside was up. Maria hopped up from the swing she had been sitting on and all but ran back inside the house, leaving the rest of them shaking their heads. Dmitry trailed behind Anastasia and Alexei, tipping his head up in a last attempt to hold onto whatever fresh air he could. It was unlikely that they would be allowed back out later in the afternoon, another new rule. It was getting hard to keep track of them all.

He looked up as a sudden flurry of motion ahead of him caught his attention. Anastasia had apparently lifted her arm and thrown something, and Dmitry managed to look up in time as the wet snowball made contact with one of the guard's heads. With a shrill- almost giddy- shriek, Anastasia grabbed both his and Alexei's arms and ran back to the house with them, never looking back to see how angry the guard was.


	17. Chapter 17

_First of all, I apologize yet again for how long it took me to post this._

 _I'd also like to apologize if these last few chapters have seemed a little rushed. I know exactly what I want to do with this story, and I've been very impatient about getting it to this point, but I also didn't want to just skip months ahead. On the plus side, now that I've gotten this story to this point, I hope writing it will become a little easier._

* * *

"Olga! Tatiana! Come here!" Anastasia shouted, never looking away from the window in the sitting room. Across the room she hear Maria drop her book and rush over to the window just as two pars of footsteps came rushing up the stairs.

"What is it?" Olga asked from behind her as Maria slipped her hand into hers. "What's wrong?"

"Look!" She pointed out the window to the yard beyond. Olga and Tatiana pressed themselves close, craning their necks to see what had made Anastasia shout for them.

"What are they doing?" Tatiana demanded, stamping her foot in an almost cartoonish was.

The four sister huddled in the window and watched from above as three guards hacked their snow mountain apart with shovels. It was already mostly taken apart, with a deep valley running through its middle. In a few minutes it would be gone altogether.

"I don't understand," Maria whimpered, squeezing Anastasia's hand so tight her fingertips tingled. "Why won't they allow us _anything_ that's fun?"

"Because they're Bolshie pigs," Anastasia spat. Her face screwed up as one of the guard took a pickaxe to what remained of the mountain. "What do they care about letting us have fun?"

"I'm a little surprised it took them so long to take it away," Olga mumbled, turning away from the window. Anastasia heard her sister throw herself down onto the couch with a groan, and Tatiana followed close behind to comfort her. Maria remaind at the window with Anastasia, biting at her nails as they watched the rest of the mountain disappear. It seemed to drag on forever, though in reality it took almost no time at all.

"I guess that's that," Maria murmured when the guards were done, though neither of them turned away from the window.

"Nastya!" Even from all the way upstairs, they could hear Alexei running through the house. He came thundering up the stairs, Dmitry hot on his heels trying to make sure he didn't trip. "Nastya! Have you seen what they've done?"

"Yes, we have," Maria answered for her. Though her voice wavered the tiniest bit, she did not cry, and Anastasia dimly marveled at how much strength that must have taken for her sister. She herself hardly cried about anything anymore, but Maria had always felt things much more deeply than she did.

"I'm sorry," Dmitry said, bowing his head. "It's my fault."

"What is?" Anastasia asked.

"If I hadn't climbed up there yesterday, they might not have taken it down."

"Don't be stupid," Tatiana snapped. From beside her, Olga gave an exasperated sigh, but said nothing. "They would have knocked it down regardless."

"She's right. You heard what that guard told us," Alexei said.

Anastasia drew herself up into a stiff posture with a serious look on her face, a near perfect imitation of the guard. " _It's for your own safety, there's been unrest in the streets,_ " she mimicked before dropping the act. "They'd have taken any excuse not to let us up there. They probably don't want any of the Reds or their supporters to see that we're human just like them. If the Bolsheviks make the Russian people rely on their propaganda about us, it makes it easier for them to hate us."

" _Anastasia,_ " Tatiana sighed as Olga burst into tears. "Must you always be so… so…"

"So _what_?" Anastasia demanded.

"So guileless," Tatiana frowned. She wrapped her arms around their oldest sister and began rocking her back and forth as she whispered to her.

"Well it's the truth," Anastasia said waspishly. "I'd like to see you look me in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong."

"Whether you're wrong or right doesn't matter," Tatiana snapped. "Sometimes the truth is just a little too harsh." With that she stood, pulling Olga up with her, and guided her sister back down the stairs. Anastasia threw herself on the newly vacated couch with a huff. No doubt Tatiana would tell Mama, and Anastasia would get yet another stern talking to. And yet, she couldn't find it in herself to care much. There was very little that could be taken from her at this point.

"I fail to see how I'm the bad guy here," she announced to anyone in the room who would listen. Maria threw a nervous glance over her shoulder at the stairs while Dmitry shook his head. It only made her angrier; people were always shaking their head and grimacing when she spoke. She hated it. It made her feel like she was doing something wrong by speaking out. Her family, at least, should know by now that she would never hold her tongue. Maybe she was even incapable of it.

"You're not the bad guy," Alexei said as he sat down next to her and laid his head on her shoulder. He had to lean over quite a bit to do so, and Anastasia wondered when he'd started getting so tall. "Some of us simply aren't as strong as you are."

"Is that what you think I am?" Anastasia asked him. "Strong?" Alexei nodded against her shoulder.

"Of course I do," he said. "Don't you see it?"

"See what?" she asked. She glanced at both Maria and Dmitry, but they were busy pretending not to listen.

"They haven't broken you," Alexei said reverently, his blue eyes shining as he stared up at her. "You see the way Mama and Olga simply droop when something else gets taken away. Tatiana's better at hiding it because she's always taking care of everyone else, but she's almost as unhappy as Olga is. But no matter what they do to us, you're still the same Anastasia you were before this all began. You make us all smile and forget for a little bit."

Anastasia didn't feel like she was the same person. She felt decades older than that sheltered, naïve girl who thought nothing could happen to her family. She felt just as miserable as everyone else seemed all the time. She felt she had just been wearing a mask or putting on an act. She felt heavier and tired and nothing at all like the girl she had left behind in the Winter palace. But if strong was how her family viewed her, and what they needed her to be, then Anastasia would be just that.

* * *

Dmitry was fairly sure he was going to go stir crazy. The air outside had less of a bit to it, and normally that would be a good thing and they would all spend as much time outside as possible to revel in it. But their allotted time outside had been cut down once again. Now, it seemed, they hardly had enough time to stick their noses out the door before they were being told to come back in.

The new government, Lenin's government, had been making radical changes to their life in captivity. Suddenly they were all put on soldiers' rations and their allowance had been cut to only 600 rubles per person per month. Most of the other servants were gone, with only a few remaining and some staying without pay. Dmitry hadn't even known his position had been on the chopping block until after everyone else was gone. He still wondered why he had been allowed to stay, even with a smaller salary.

Not that he was complaining. He was very glad and very grateful that he was allowed to remain with the family, but his job was very quickly becoming obsolete. The rumor circulating was that Nicholas had put up quite a fight to keep him, even going as far as bringing Yakovlev to the yard that day to meet Dmitry. It was yet another thing Dmitry supposed he'd never understand. Alexei could only get into so much trouble locked away in the house, and now that he was growing taller and heavier it would be harder for Dmitry to carry him around when he was unable to walk. He would have to depend on his wheelchair to get around, and quite literally anyone could push him around in that. All of them knew well that once they were released from captivity, Dmitry might not be needed anymore.

Another rumor going around was that Lenin and his government was using the Winter Palace as their headquarters, now. Dmitry had felt sick to his stomach, hearing that. All the rooms had been sealed by the provisional government when they had left the palace behind, but he imagined the new government wouldn't care about that. They had probably already made themselves at home, breaking whatever was left behind and rifling through their belongings for any "evidence" that Alexandra had been conspiring with the Germans in the war.

They wouldn't find anything, of course. The idea of Alexandra scheming with the Germans was preposterous to anyone who knew her. Still, Dmitry imagined the Bolsheviks would make up just about anything to keep the people on their side.

The newspapers were coming less and less often now, and were even more horribly outdated when they were permitted to read them, but suddenly Dmitry found himself fighting with Tatiana over who got to read them first. She often won, but that didn't stop him from reading over her shoulder, much to her annoyance. They had a silent agreement, though, to keep the newspapers away from the younger siblings. What they read in the papers regarding their family was disconcerting at best, and Dmitry was worried about what it might do to their spirits if they were to ever learn about what was written about them. As it turned out, their worries were usually for nothing. Maria, Anastasia, and Alexei hardly ever expressed interest in reading the newspapers, and when one of them did ask about the news they were often able to feed them half-truths and smaller headlines. Dmitry wasn't sure if it was ignorance or self-preservation keeping the younger three from reading the newspapers, but he wasn't about to argue.

Anastasia seemed to have taken Alexei's words to heart and had doubled her efforts to keep everyone laughing and happy as they could be in their situation. Soon enough, he and the rest of her siblings had been enlisted to perform in a play she'd written. The script, Dmitry had realized upon reading it, held many common themes from her people watching stories, including the she'd told him of the soldier presumed dead by the girl who'd loved him. This time, she had given them a happier ending.

He, of course, was cast as the young soldier returning from the war. It made sense to all of them, since Alexei was too young to play the soldier, plus that would mean he'd have to kiss one of his sisters and they'd all roundly agreed that would be too weird. Dmitry had been prepared for Anastasia to announce that she would be playing the role of the girl he had fallen in love with- it would not have been a stretch for anyone. However, she announced instead that Maria would be playing that role, while she herself would simply act as director and stage manager.

Anastasia kept them all rehearsing every spare moment they had for weeks on end, coaching them on how she envisioned the whole play. She was especially tough on Maria, and Dmitry couldn't help but think that if she wanted everything to be _just so_ then she could act the whole thing out by herself. Maria, on the other hand, seemed to be just fine with Anastasia micromanaging everything, if it meant the relentless boredom was gone.

Finally, after two months of rehearsals, Anastasia deemed them ready to perform for their audience. Tatiana had been persuaded to design pamphlets for the play which had turned out beautifully, even if three people had to share each pamphlet. Alexei had managed to snatch one of Nicholas's old uniforms for Dmitry's costume, and Dmitry was more nervous about that than he was about acting. He doubted Nicholas would care much, but Alexandra or some of the guards might be offended by it, and he found his stomach doing odd little flips at the thought of it.

It turned out that his worries were unfounded. Nicholas smirked a bit at Dmitry wearing his ill-fitting uniform, and no one else batted an eye. The entire thing, actually, went off without a hitch much to Dmitry's relief. The entire thing only solidified the idea in his head that Anastasia was meant to be a writer of some sort, because every line got the desired response from their audience. They laughed at every single joke, expertly delivered by the actors, and Dmitry swore he saw Alexandra sniffle and dab at her eyes when Dmitry's character was presumed dead by his parents.

The only minor bump in the road was when Dmitry's character was reunited with Maria's character. They were supposed to kiss and fall into each other's arms and a whole bunch of other mushy romantic stuff that, honestly, Dmitry wasn't sure where Anastasia had learned it because it certainly wasn't from her own experiences. He and Maria had never rehearsed the kiss before, though. Dmitry felt extremely uncomfortable kissing her in front of her entire family, especially Anastasia, and so when the time came, he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek instead. Maria, however, seemed to sense his discomfort and read his mind, so when she turned her head to face her cheek to him he ended up almost kissing her ear, much to the amusement of everyone in the room.

For days afterward, the girls teased him for missing so badly. Anastasia was especially merciless, even going as far as brushing Maria's chin-length hair behind her ear and gesturing for him to kiss it, all with grin that could rival the Cheshire Cat's. Every time she did it, Maria would swat at her younger sister with a scowl, but even she would tease Dmitry when no one else was paying attention.

He even caught a few of the guards smirking and snickering at him when the girls made fun of him. Despite their orders not to interact with any of the family or servants, it seemed the guards had developed at least a tolerance to them, and life was suddenly becoming more bearable.

So Dmitry didn't understand why he was so shocked when life changed yet again.


	18. Chapter 18

_Okay, so I know I said I thought I could update quicker than this. And this chapter would have been out sooner, but I ended up hurting my shoulder and it's been in a sling, so typing has been slow. But today I had an unexpected day off, plus it's my birthday, so I made this chapter a little longer to make up for it! Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

It began with a cough.

Initially it wasn't enough to worry anyone. It was still cold outside and the house was drafty, of course people were going to get colds. Anastasia was surprised no one had gotten sick yet, so when Maria began to cough no one really batted an eye. But then Tatiana began to cough, too, and then Olga. Their mother began to worry that the girls might develop bronchitis due to the relentless cold. She very nearly moved Anastasia out of the girls' room to prevent her from getting sick too.

And then Alexei began to cough, and life inside the house ground to a halt.

Much to their distress, Olga, Tatiana, and Maria were forbidden to see him until their own colds were gone, since no one wanted to risk making Alexei's cough even worse. Anastasia and Dmitry were both enlisted to help try to keep Alexei from coughing. Tea was brewed as often as possible on their rations, and all the spare blankets were brought in and piled on top of Alexei.

None of it did any good. Within days his cough was worse and had provoked yet another hemorrhage in his groin. There was so much blood pooled in his joint that he couldn't straighten his leg. That first night, Anastasia doubted any one of them got more than twenty minutes of sleep, between the worry and Alexei's sobbing. Dr. Botkin was saying it was his worst attack since the time he'd nearly died in Spala, back in 1912. This time, his kidneys were affected.

Privately, Anastasia thought this was worse. In 1912, Alexei had been all but comatose from the pain. It had been scarier for the rest of them, for sure, but Alexei himself had been blissfully unconscious for most of the attack. This time her brother was awake, and had to suffer through every second of pain. During the day she did her best to keep him distracted, holding his hand and telling him stories, though it hardly seemed to do any good. She wished Tatiana would get better quickly- she had always been the best of them to nurse him during these attacks. Every time he coughed, his whole body would seize up from the pain and he would moan as it aggravated his hip even more.

"I would like to die," he whispered to her one day while she kept him company as their mother was resting. "I'm not afraid of death."

"Oh, Alyosha, don't say that," she cried as Dmitry looked up from across the room in alarm. "You'll pull through this, just like you always do. Everything will be fine soon, just you wait and see." Alexei simply closed his eyes and turned his head away, and all Anastasia could do was grip her brother's hand tighter and thank God he'd said it to her and not their mother.

By the time her sisters were feeling better enough to be allowed into Alexei's room, his skin had taken on a sickly yellow tinge and his temperature was not coming down. He often felt too sick to eat even broth, and what little he did eat usually got vomited back up from the pain. Tatiana and Dmitry took turns placing cool cloths on his forehead and on the insides of his wrists, but it didn't seem to be helping much. Alexei moaned constantly, and was entirely unashamed that he cried for his mother like a much younger child.

Anastasia wished with all her heart that, somehow, she could bring Father Grigori back. It was hard to believe that it had only been a little over a year since he had been murdered. It often felt like much longer, especially because Alexei hadn't gotten sick in that long. She supposed it much be some sort of record for him. But that record did nothing for them now that Alexei was suffering once again. Father Grigori had always known what to do to ease her brother's pain. Sometimes it seemed he had simply looked at him and suddenly the bleeding stopped.

What she wouldn't give for that now, she thought. Anastasia would have given up every material thing she owned, her music box included, if that meant Alexei would be healthy.

* * *

Dmitry was having horrifying flashbacks to Spala. He wasn't sure which one was worse in his mind, mostly because both were both so terrifying. This time at least Alexei was awake and could tell them how to help him. But on the other hand, there was no one to help them beside Botkin, and they barely had enough medicine to treat him adequately. Almost three weeks passed before Alexei started to show any signs that his body was reabsorbing the blood that had pooled in his joints.

The entire household seemed to release the breath they had been holding as one. Alexandra didn't look nearly as tortured during the day, and Nicholas didn't go through as many cigarettes as he had been. Smiles came easier, and even Tatiana's face looked a little less pinched.

Everyone began catching up on some much needed rest, and often Dmitry was left alone with Alexei in their room. He didn't mind at all; part of him was just glad to have his room back, as he'd practically been kicked out with Alexei so sick. More often than not he'd been forced to crash on the couch in the sitting room, trying hard not to feel like spoiled brat as he pined for his bed.

Alexei seemed glad for him to be back too, if the expression on his face was any indication. Though still slightly yellow and unable to unbend his leg, he looked more at ease than he had for weeks as Dmitry marched in with his pillow and blanket under his arm. Alexei had tried to apologize more than once about "kicking Dmitry out of the room," something that, heartwarming as it was, Dmitry had been quick to put a stop to. It wasn't as if Alexei had gotten sick on purpose, nor could he blame any of the family for wanting to sit with the boy all night.

"I still feel just awful about it," Alexei tried one more time after Dmitry had set up his bed again. "That couch is so hard and lumpy, I can't imagine you slept very well. And for weeks, too!"

"It's not a big deal," Dmitry managed to say with a smile, even as a knot in his back protested. "I probably slept better on the couch than I would have in here."

"But it's your room, too," Alexei said. "They could have moved me into Mama and Papa's room. You should have been able to stay."

"Now you sound like Tatiana." Alexei's nose wrinkled and Dmitry laughed. "Don't look at me like that, you do! I'll never understand it, I think. Both of you think of others first. Besides, no one was going to move you and risk hurting you more."

"Tatya's much bossier than I am," was the only thing Alexei could argue, much to Dmitry's amusement.

"That's debatable."

Dmitry never admitted it to Alexei, but while he was more comfortable back in his bed, he didn't sleep any better that night than he had on the couch. Alexei's labored breathing aside, Dmitry thought he would just about have a heart attack every time Alexei coughed even the tiniest bit. He very nearly got up in the middle of the night to make a hot cup of tea for the boy before he remembered that the guards would never permit it, plus that meant one less cup of tea they'd have for the next day. Instead, he silently piled blanket after blanket on top of Alexei and prayed the hardest he'd ever prayed for his cough to go away.

Anastasia watched from the doorway the next morning as Dmitry got a tongue lashing from her mother the next morning. She stifled her laughter as Dmitry tried to look appropriately ashamed as Alexandra yelled at him, reminding him that if he got sick it could make Alexei worse. She even went as far as to deposit all of the extra blankets on Dmitry's bed with a pointed look that plainly said they'd better stay there.

Anastasia snorted. She could see right through her mother's tirade. She suspected anyone else could, too. It was only when her mother turned and caught her standing in the doorway that Anastasia turned and fled back to the dining room.

Though Alexei was still weak and bedridden from blood loss, a few days later an air of excitement had taken over the household. With Easter approaching, Alexandra had asked Yakovlev if they might be allowed to attend Easter services at the nearby church. It would be a small favor by all accounts, and naturally they would be heavily guarded. It wasn't even a very far walk to the church. Yakovlev had said he would pass the request along to his higher ups, as that matter was out of his hands, but they all remained hopeful. Surely, no one could refuse them. It was the only thing they had asked for since the stoves, and it was far less bothersome to allow than the stoves had been.

All of her sisters were busy planning out what they might wear to the church. All their court dresses had, naturally, been left behind in the Winter Palace, and the clothes they did have with them had become rather threadbare in the months of captivity. Though none of them were vain by any standards, they did not want to show up to church wearing worn skirts and blouses. Anastasia wished they were allowed to at least send a member of their household out to town with some money to pick up new clothes, or even to mend the clothes they had, but there was no doubt in her mind that that request would be denied.

Instead, she and her sisters attempted to mend their clothes on their own. There wasn't much they could do, unfortunately, but it at least gave them something to focus on in the long hours of the day. She had already caught Maria lowering the hem on her shirt an inch or two, and her sister had smirked when she did the same. Their eagle-eyed Mama was bound to notice, but Anastasia was almost seventeen years old, and it was about time she was allowed to wear fashionable longer skirts. She was no longer a little girlie, and she certainly felt much older than the fifteen-year-old girl she had been when their house arrest had begun.

And if she silently hoped that someone might notice how grown up she looked in her longer skirt, well, that was her business.

So busy were they with their sewing that they were startled when Dr. Botkin appeared in their doorway, an uneasy look on his face. He appeared slightly out of breath, and for a moment Anastasia's heart stopped. She leapt to her feet, still clutching the skirt she had been mending, her heart in her throat.

"Is it-?"

Dr. Botkin shook his head. "No, child," he said. "Your brother is fine. But your parents asked me to come get all of you. They're waiting in their room."

Anastasia glanced at her sisters, but none of them seemed to have any idea of what was going on either. Tatiana moved first, as usual, putting her sewing down and walking briskly to the door. The rest of them followed, travelling as a pack down the hallway behind the doctor. One of her sisters slipped their hand into hers on the way to their parents' room, but they were all so intertwined that she couldn't guess whose it was. Instead, she slipped her free hand into someone else's and squeezed them both.

Their parents were waiting for them, and it was clear within seconds that they were anxious and agitated. Their father stood by the window, appearing to stare out though all they could see was the yard, stroking his beard relentlessly. Their mother was seating in the armchair, looking rather ashen and drawn.

"Papa?" Maria murmured. Alexandra looked up sharply.

"Close the door," she ordered, and Dr. Botkin complied as he bowed and backed out from the room. "We'll keep this short, so we don't arouse suspicion."

"What is going on?" Tatiana asked. "What's happened?"

Anastasia's mind immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios. Nana had died and they finally received word. Auntie Olga or Auntie Xenia had died. The Bolsheviks had killed the rest of their family and were coming for them next. They were being released, but forced to live in exile outside of Russia. Each scenario made the knot in her stomach grow tighter and tighter until she thought she might throw up.

The reality was much worse.

"Your father is being moved," Alexandra said in a monotone, growing even paler as she said the words. She continued speaking as her daughters yelled in shock and protest. "I must go with him. You girlies must stay here with Alexei. Yakovlev has given us his word that you will follow after the river thaws."

"But where are you going?" Maria wailed. Nicholas bowed his head.

"We don't know, yet," he said gravely. "Yakovlev doesn't even know."

"We leave tomorrow at 4 am," Alexandra said, standing suddenly. "We must pack. Someone has to break the news to Baby."

Anastasia slipped from the room and fled back to her own bedroom. She had the strange desire to crawl under her bed and hide, as if the news couldn't follow her there. She quashed the urge, mostly out of knowledge that she would never fit. Instead, she paced the room tugging anxiously at her chin-length hair.

She should be the one to tell Alexei. They all knew she was his favorite sister, he might take the news better if it came from her mouth. Or perhaps Dmitry could be the one to tell him. Somehow, Dmitry always knew what to say and how to say it to soften a blow as much as possible. She should go and find them, she knew. But instead she paced and paced.

Though she was not as affectionate toward her father as Maria was, she wanted to cling to him and beg him not to go just yet as she had when he left for the war. Yakovlev had promised that the children would follow after the river thawed, so she couldn't see why they couldn't wait and move them all together. It would be simpler, logistically, and it would be far less traumatizing for all of them.

And, if she was being honest, it frightened her to think of all of them alone in the house without her parents to protect them. Sure, they would have plenty of the household around to look out for them, but it wasn't the same. Her Papa might not be the Tsar anymore, but people did not forget the power he had once held so easily. He still held himself as an absolute ruler, and people couldn't help but listen to what he said. Without him, Anastasia feared what might become of her and her siblings.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before Olga and Maria returned, both still looking a bit shell-shocked. Anastasia wished she was still small enough for Olga to hold her and tell her everything would turn out fine. She doubted, though, that even if she was still small enough, that Olga would be able to convince her anymore.

To her shock, upon entering the room Maria pulled her valise from under her bed and began throwing things into it haphazardly. Olga began helping her, mostly by rearranging the things in the suitcase so they were a little neater.

"What are you doing?" Anastasia cried, grabbing a blouse from her sister's hand as it was about to go into the suitcase.

"I'm going with Mama and Papa," Maria said in a wavering voice, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Tatya said it has to be me."

"Where is Tatiana now?" she asked, striding toward the door.

"Don't," Olga said. "It's been decided already."

"Well it can be undecided!" Anastasia yelled, throwing her hands in the air. "Tatiana can go with Mama and Papa instead."

"Tatiana and I have to stay to nurse Alexei, and take care of the household," Olga said gently.

"It's okay," Maria said weakly. "I want to go."

"But I don't want you to go!" Anastasia wailed. She threw her arms around Maria who stumbled a bit under her weight but hugged her back all the same. She cried, unabashed, against her closest sister's shoulder and after a few seconds she felt Maria's own tears wetting her collar.


	19. Chapter 19

Time was passing too slowly and too quickly at the same time. A distant part of Anastasia's mind wondered how that could be, but the larger part was more focused on her family, and the knot in her stomach that grew tighter with each passing second. The entire thing was eerily reminiscent of the night they departed St. Petersburg.

She and Maria were so intertwined that she could hardly tell where she ended and her sister started. It seemed as though the more time passed, the more they became connected. She could feel a large wet spot on her shoulder where her Maria's tears had soaked through her blouse. Anastasia herself hadn't cried yet, though it really was only a matter of time.

It seemed cruel, even for the Bolsheviks, for them to split up their family. Even crueler was the fact that none of them knew where they were being sent to, or if they would ever see each other again. Just thinking about that had Anastasia squeezing her sister's hand so hard she flinched. Maria, to her credit, didn't protest. Instead she only squeezed Anastasia's hand back and shifted a bit closer to her.

Their mother, their proud, dignified Mama, had climbed into Alexei's bed with him at the beginning of the night. Alexei was practically in her lap, clinging to her like a much younger child. Earlier he had been practically whimpering, and Anastasia had had to pretend it was from the pain to keep from crying as well.

Somewhere within the house a clock chimed three o'clock in the morning. A deep exhaustion had taken root in all of them, but Anastasia still felt too on edge to even think about closing her eyes. They only had one more hour with each other, and she feared that if she fell asleep no one would wake her and she would awaken the next morning to find half of her family gone without a clue as to where they were taken. Beside her, Maria stiffened. Her breaths began to come in quick little gasps as she cried harder, and when Tatiana reached over to touch her shoulder a sob burst from her lips. The sound just about ripped Anastasia's heart out.

She felt sure it would be far less painful for all of them to have their hearts actually ripped out. The uncertainty and anxiety alone were enough to paralyze her. The thought of having to say goodbye to her closest sister had her clinging even harder to her.

She still wasn't sure why Tatiana couldn't have gone with their parents. Not that she wouldn't miss her terribly as well, but Tatiana would be able to help their mother more, and Olga was skilled enough to nurse Alexei on her own. She loved Maria dearly, but the months of captivity had weakened her sister's spirit, and she worried that the separation might change her beloved Mashka forever. Tatiana was stronger. Tatiana should be the one to accompany her parents.

One look at Olga's face made her reconsider. Her oldest sister looked much older than she should, just barely a shadow of the girl she had been before this whole ordeal had started. If Tatiana went with their parents, if Olga was in the position she herself was in now, she knew it would break her. As much as she hated this plan, she knew she and Maria had a chance of surviving it. She could be selfless for Olga.

Anastasia had hoped that thought would help her be strengthen her resolve, but she still felt horribly anxious about being separated from almost half of her family. She couldn't understand why this new government insisted on being so cryptic with their actions. She had a feeling that those in charge knew exactly where her parents and sister were going, but didn't want to tell anyone lest that information get out to the public.

Not that they had very many people left to tell. Most of the servants that had followed them into captivity had been dismissed already. Some of them had been with her family since before she could remember. Anastasia had to wonder what had become of them, stranded so far from home with little money and almost no way to get back.

It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. Anastasia was old enough now to understand that life wasn't always going to be fair, but she couldn't understand what, exactly, her family had done to warrant this treatment. Had the tsars of the past really treated the Russian citizens so poorly? Had her family behaved so badly in captivity that they deserved to be split apart?

Outside, they heard the gate open and a truck pull in, its motor running loudly. Anastasia looked up sharply and locked eyes with Olga, who seemed to be paralyzed with anxiety. From Alexei's bed came another muffled gasp. Her father merely straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. As much as she wished her Papa would show more emotion, in that moment she was proud to call herself his daughter. She knew he wouldn't allow himself to be escorted away looking anything less than imperial, and even in his threadbare clothes there was no mistaking him for anything except a king.

The knock they had been dreading came. A moment later Dmitry poked his head in, looking apologetic.

"They're waiting," he murmured before retreating.

Alexei began to cry in earnest as his parents kissed and hugged him. The sound struck Anastasia down to her soul and made her want to cry herself. She could hear their mother telling him to be good and follow Dr. Botkin's orders so they could follow after them soon, and Alexei could only cling to her hand in response. Anastasia tried not to look at her mother's face as she pulled herself away and out of the room. When Maria stood to kiss Alexei goodbye, Anastasia stood too.

She felt strangely detached from her body as she followed her family down the stairs and out into the yard. It was if she was merely floating along beside her body and watching it go through all the motions. It was still dark out, and she could barely see the truck in the light from the house. There were guards loading luggage into the back, and another behind the wheel tapping his thumbs impatiently. She realized her mother had spoken to her, and sheepishly apologized.

"You be a good girly for me," she repeated as she hugged Anastasia close, her voice barely wavering. "Listen to your sisters and keep each other safe. We'll be together soon." Anastasia nodded against her mother's shoulder. Then her mother pulled away to hug the Big Pair goodbye, and her father replaced her.

"God be with you, Papa," she managed to squeak out before launching herself at him.

"And with you, ma Nastya," he murmured into her hair. "I will miss you dearly until we are all together again." Anastasia felt her eyes begin to water, and she squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to keep her tears in. Instead she focused on how sturdy her father was, and prayed with everything she had in her that he would be safe.

And then it was her turn to say goodbye to Maria. At the sight of her sister's face, her eyes and nose red and her cheeks splotchy from crying, Anastasia felt her own tears finally fall. She and Maria clung to each other once more. Over her sister's shoulder she saw her father pull Dmitry to the side and begin to speak to him, but she was too tired and too distraught to wonder what they could possibly be discussing.

"I'm frightened," Maria breathed into her ear. "I don't want to leave you behind."

"I'll come with you," she said. "I can have my things packed in just a minute." She moved as if to pull away and dash back inside the house, intent on throwing some clothes in her own suitcase and dragging it back out to the truck, but Maria locked her arms even tighter around her.

"No," she said, her voice firmer than it had been in days. "As much as I wish you could come, you're needed here. You've got to stay with Alexei."

"But you need me, too," she moaned. Maria shook her head.

"Alexei needs you more." There was nothing left for them to say, so Anastasia simply held Maria until the order came for them to get in the truck. Her mother and father did so with only a few more words and touches to their children, but Maria hesitated.

"It's time, Mashka," Tatiana coaxed, taking one of Maria's hands. "Go, before the guards get upset."

Maria nodded and began trying to untangle herself from Anastasia's arms. Anastasia was reluctant to let her sister go, but did so because she knew better than to make someone pry them apart. The guards remaining with them at the house barked at them to return inside, and they did so with many backwards glances. Beside her, Dmitry wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her back into the front entrance as the truck pulled out of the gates, taking her parents and her sister away.


	20. Chapter 20

_I know, I know. I am so sorry, I promise I tried to get this up quickly. Grad school is kicking my butt._

* * *

No matter how hard she tried, Anastasia simply couldn't adjust to having half of her family missing. It struck her as backwards and extremely unfair that she was not able to seek comfort from her parents at the time she needed them most. Without her parents there, she felt lost.

And without Maria, she simply felt unbalanced. For her entire life, she and Maria had been the Little Pair, two halves of a whole. Though she loved her brother dearly, she had always felt closest to Maria. They had shared everything, from a bedroom to secrets, and without her there it felt as if the world had been turned inside out.

Olga and Tatiana were no comfort at all. They alternated between leaving her alone and smothering her, and both were exhausting in their own way. The irony was not lost on her that if Maria was there, she would have known exactly what to say and do. It was not that Olga or Tatiana cared less than Maria, but simply that they did not possess her intuition as far as Anastasia was concerned.

Even Dmitry was getting on her nerves. He tended to hover around her, even when she insisted she was fine and didn't need a second shadow following her around. She knew he was only trying to be helpful, but he was treating her like she would break at the smallest of touches. Though she was still rather distraught in the absence of her parents and sister, she didn't need someone to do everything for her. In fact, she would have welcomed any distraction she could find if they had all not been done for her.

The only one who seemed to understand her was Alexei, who spent the day after the separation absolutely inconsolable. She and Dmitry had tried a number of things to get a reaction out of him, but he had remained almost catatonic in his grief. In the end, Anastasia had climbed into his bed with him and they'd laid like that for the rest of the day.

In the days since, however, more changes had been made to their living arrangements. Many of their servants, those that remained anyway, were suddenly moved into the Governor's house, onto mattresses and couches and anywhere else the soldiers could find room for them. When asked, the soldiers only gave vague half-answers as to why they were cramming so many people into the house. Anastasia could only assume it was because it would be easier to keep track of all of them, but she wondered why that was necessary all of a sudden.

With so many more hands around the house to do menial tasks like laundry, cleaning, and cooking, Anastasia often found herself drifting aimlessly from room to room. Sometimes she sat with Alexei for a while, but with the Big Pair caring for him all the time, it quickly became unbearable for her to be there for long stretches of time. She could only stick around long enough to make him smile a little and maybe read with him a bit before she had to flee or else risk being smothered by her sisters.

The only comfort she could find was that they had a little news of their family. Maria had been clever enough to send a note back with one of the men who had escorted them away, telling them that the roads had been terribly bumpy and nearly unusable. After that a few telegraphs came informing them of their family's whereabouts and wellbeing on various trains and boats. It had been a few days since they had heard anything, though, and Anastasia was beginning to grow worried.

She could feel herself growing more restless with each passing day. She didn't even have any new books to read to ease the unrelenting boredom and worry. The entire situation made her want to scream. She wished with all her heart that their captivity would end soon, and that her family would be reunited once again.

Tatiana, who had been dutifully reading each newspaper they were provided with, had been speculating that perhaps their Papa had been needed in Moscow. It made sense, she supposed. She had overheard some guards saying that Lenin wanted to put her Papa on trial, and Moscow was the new capital according to his government. She could only hope that if that were the case, they were merciful to her family.

There were no guarantees, of course, but Anastasia thought that they could all be happy living in exile as normal people. They would never be allowed to stay in Russia, but perhaps they would go to Paris with Nana, or to England where Mama was raised and Papa had cousins. They had all thought about that idea before, and she knew they were all in favor of that outcome. She herself had thought about that outcome more than she cared to admit. Then again, at this point she thought she would take any outcome that allowed her family to live and be together.

She caught sight of Dmitry carrying a tray of tea into her brother's room, bearing a smile so bright that anyone with eyes could tell it was forced. She knew Dmitry was only trying to reassure Alexei that everything would be fine, but her brother was only ill, not dumb. Sometimes she thought he was too smart for his own good, but people seemed to forget that fact when he was sick. They babied him and she knew how much he hated it. Dmitry meant well, they all did, but they weren't going to help Alexei get well that way. All their doting would do nothing to help him if he had no will to do anything but sulk.

Anastasia squared her shoulders and strode toward her brother's room, determined to get him to laugh.

* * *

Dmitry was running out of ideas of how he could help. No matter what he tried or how much he gave, it never felt like he was doing enough.

Botkin was doing everything he could to keep Alexei comfortable, but the boy still had trouble straightening his leg, and didn't seem to want to be bothered with anything. Dmitry tried not to let himself get discouraged from the lack of response he got from Alexei, determined to at least keep his spirits high enough to help him heal faster.

The sisters seemed to be of the same mind, though they had the luxury of splitting up their tasks between the three of them. Tatiana, true to form, was the one who enforced the rules. She gave him his medicine like clockwork each day, and Alexei knew better than to argue with her. It almost seemed funny to him that Tatiana, the second-born, had taken up the role of head of the household instead of Olga in their parents' absence. And no one seemed to question it, not even Yakovlev and his soldiers.

But if Tatiana was there to govern, then Olga was there to listen. She was the balm that soothed him when Tatiana was too bossy, and the one to talk Alexei down when he got in the mood to snap back. Despite looking rather drained, she was the voice of reason for all of them. Dmitry did have a bit of trouble reconciling this version of her with the one he had grown up with, who would have talked back to Tatiana all she wanted. But they all had a habit of being overly selfless when it came to Alexei.

It was Anastasia he was worried about. She had always been an excellent actress, and now was no exception. He watched as she put on a brave face for him and her siblings every day. She joked and laughed and acted like a fool in front of Alexei. If he hadn't known her as well as he did, he might have believed she was perfectly fine.

It was the way her shoulders were always held just a little stiffer than normal and the dark circles that appeared under her eyes that told him she was still suffering from the separation. It was in the way she simply seemed to droop when she looked at the chair where Maria had always sat during meals. Most of all, it was in the way she latched onto Alexei.

The worst part was Dmitry couldn't do anything to fix it. He wished he could just wave his hands and make everything alright again, make their family together again and Nicholas the Tsar. He longed for the days of his childhood when things were simpler and none of them had had to worry about anything.

So, it came as a relief when they finally got another letter from Maria. The envelope, already opened, had been dropped so casually in front of Tatiana at breakfast that initially none of the siblings paid it any mind. They were far too used to their mail being opened before receiving it at that point.

It was only when Tatiana went to move it off the newspaper that she recognized the handwriting and gasped, getting the attention of her sisters.

"It's a letter!" she exclaimed, and Olga and Anastasia had not needed any more explanation than that.

"Read it!" Anastasia demanded, nearly toppling her chair over as she rushed around to Tatiana's side and made a grab for the letter. "What does it say?"

"Patience!" Tatiana reprimanded her, holding the envelope out of Anastasia's reach. Anastasia huffed, but only tapped her toe against the ground as her sister gingerly removed the letter from the envelope and unfolded it.

Barely a second had passed before Dmitry watched all three of their faces simply crumple. Anastasia looked like she was about to start crying, and he felt his stomach drop to his toes. He wondered what the letter could possibly say to make them all look like that, but then Anastasia snatched the letter out of Tatiana's hand and pressed it to her nose.

"It's smells like Mashka," she moaned.

"She must have sprayed it with her perfume," Tatiana said.

Dmitry realized her eyes were watering as well.

"Don't inhale the paper," Olga chided her sister with a paper-thin smile. "We still want to hear what she wrote." Anastasia nodded and took one last sniff before handing the letter back to Tatiana.

"My dear sisters," she read aloud.

 _I miss you all terribly and am praying_ _I finally hear back from you soon_ _. I feel the journey to this place was especially awful because we were separated._

 _Mama, Papa and I are trying to settle in as best as we can. Our beds were finally delivered to the House of Special Purpose, so we no longer have to sleep on a pile of blankets and coats. Isn't that just a dreadful name to give a place? I've been trying to think of another name to call it, but I'm afraid I'm not creative enough. We'll have to come up with one together._

 _Give Alexei a kiss for me. I do hope he's beginning to feel better. Mama is simply distraught about leaving him alone, and I don't know how to help. We three are eager for the day you join us and we are together again._

 _All my love,_

 _Your Maria_

"The House of Special Purpose?" Anastasia repeated, sounding disgusted. "Why on earth would they call it that?"

"She didn't say where they are," Olga said, reaching for the envelope and turning it over.

"Maybe she said in previous letters," Tatiana mused, though she seemed to be speaking more to herself.

"But this is the first letter you've gotten," Dmitry chimed in.

"Yes, but look at what she says." Tatiana slid the letter over to him, her finger pointing to the very first sentence. "She wrote she hopes she _finally_ hears from us. That implies she's written before, and we simply didn't receive her letters."

"They're in Yekaterinburg," Olga said, her brows furrowed together. "But I thought they were going to go to Moscow. What could they possibly be doing out there?"


	21. Chapter 21

"You've got to eat something," Tatiana said, offering a spoon to her brother once again and, once again, Alexei only frowned and turned his head away.

"I don't want it," he whined, pulling his blanket over his mouth. "It smells."

Tatiana sighed, placing the spoon back in the bowl she was holding. "Well, it's all we're going to get."

"Well, I don't want it," Alexei repeated.

"You've got to eat if you want to heal faster," Dmitry chimed in from the corner where he was watching the scene. "You'll get to see your parents and Maria sooner."

"And Mama will be so happy to see how well you're doing," Tatiana added.

"Eating that mush will only make me sicker," Alexei proclaimed dramatically, pulling the blanket over his head completely. "Just the sight of it makes me want to vomit." Dmitry stifled a snort as Tatiana rolled her eyes and set the sorry looking bowl of oatmeal on Alexei's bedside table. Seconds later the boy in question began making the most theatrical retching sounds Dmitry had heard in a long time, and he did snort as Tatiana snatched the blankets from her brother's face and flicked his nose.

"Don't be ungrateful," she hissed, glancing at the open doorway. "Honestly, we're lucky they're giving us this much of 'that mush' nowadays."

"I'm not hungry," Alexei insisted stubbornly. "Take it away."

Tatiana only heaved another sigh as Dmitry gently took the bowl out of her hands. If he was being honest, he couldn't blame Alexei for not wanting it. Though they had eaten oatmeal their entire lives, this oatmeal was rather runny and watery and there were few spices available to them to even attempt to make it better. Even a bit of cinnamon might help a bit, but they hadn't seen a speck of it for weeks.

Even so, Dmitry was nothing but amused by Alexei's behavior. He knew Alexei's patterns by heart, and whenever he was actually starting to feel better (and not simply telling everyone that) he became downright beastly. He never knew whether it was because Alexei had the energy to be restless again or simply because he was annoyed that everyone was babying him, but from his point of view it didn't matter as much as the fact that he was getting better. Soon enough he'd be up and about again, and they could be reunited with the rest of the family.

The cook, too, rolled his eyes when Dmitry handed the bowl to him with a sheepish smile. Once upon a time Dmitry might have eaten the oatmeal himself, not only to cover for Alexei but also because he remembered all too well the days on the streets when he couldn't get a meal and vowed to himself never to waste food if he ever got the chance to. But the word "food" could only be applied to this oatmeal loosely. Nevertheless, they were all under orders from Botkin to try and get Alexei to eat as much as possible, though even the good doctor had to agree that sometimes it was easier said than done.

Rather than go back to Alexei's room and argue with him some more, Dmitry decided their best bet to get the boy to eat anything was getting Anastasia involved. She had always been especially good at getting him to do something when he was in one of his moods, though Dmitry never understood how. He supposed he never would. Then again, all he cared about in that moment was getting Alexei to eat; the means and the methods were inconsequential.

He found her in the bedroom she shared with her sisters, sitting on her bed with another of Maria's letters in her hand. They had gotten a few more in the past two weeks, and her sisters were gracious enough to let Anastasia hold on to all of them. Dmitry knew the gesture was important to her, but she had been rereading the letters almost nonstop, and he wasn't sure if they should be getting concerned about her as well.

"You know," he said lightly from the doorway, "no matter how many times you read it, it's always going to say the same thing."

Anastasia rolled her eyes. "Yes, I am aware of that fact," she said. "Reading them and imagining Maria saying the words comforts me."

"You'll see her soon enough," he said. "But you'd see her sooner if you could give us a hand with Alexei."

"Again?" she sighed.

"Again," he said as Anastasia folded up the letter and laid it gingerly under her pillow. She stood up, still shaking her head, and led the way out of the room.

"He's getting terribly spoiled," she remarked. "It's getting hard to keep up with what he will and won't eat anymore."

"I can tell you that today he's not eating oatmeal, apparently."

"Well, we'll see about that. I'll force feed him if I have to." Dmitry couldn't help but laugh at her statement as they entered the kitchen.

"Good morning," Anastasia said amiably to the cook. "I've heard my brother sent back his oatmeal, but I was wondering if we couldn't try to get him to eat it again."

"Good luck with that," the cook grumbled. "It's gone cold by now, and if he didn't want to eat it warm then I doubt he'll want it now." Even still, he handed to bowl to Anastasia, who thanked him with her most charming smile still in place.

"I can see why he didn't want this," she said to Dmitry as soon as they were out of earshot. "I would bring it back to the cook, but I'd be too embarrassed to face him."

Dmitry snorted again as he looked at the look of disgust on Anastasia's face. However, as they turned into Alexei's room they realized there were three men standing in the room as well, all wearing the green military uniforms. One of the men turned to look at them with a raised eyebrow.

"Another helping?" he questioned. "I was under the impression that everyone was under solders' rations."

"They're supposed to be, sir," one of the others answered.

"We are," Dmitry said, "but Alexei did not eat yet. This is his."

"I saw his breakfast delivered to him earlier this morning," the third man said. The man who was clearly in charge waved his hand in a dismissive manner, and the others fell silent.

"We will sort it out later," he said. "Give the boy his food. If it turns out it was a second helping, he can skip supper." He stepped back and waved Dmitry forward, who handed the bowl Alexei in bed. He took it without argument, though they shared a glance that plainly told Dmitry he still didn't want to eat it.

"What are the two sisters doing in here, then?" one of the guards asked. "I was not aware it took three people to feed the child."

"I'm not a child," Alexei mumbled darkly.

"No, this is good," the man in charge said. "It makes today's roll call easier. Find the last sister and have her meet us in here."

"Roll call?" Tatiana asked as one of the men strode out of the room. "We've never had to do a roll call before."

"That's because the other Commandants of this house are lazy and unconcerned with order. I intend to change that." The man straightened his shoulders. "My name is Rodionov. I expect nothing but cooperation from everyone in this house."

* * *

"This is humiliating," Alexei grumbled. Olga quickly hushed him as the Anastasia filed out from the sitting room and Tatiana was beckoned in. Anastasia glanced up at Dmitry, pushing Alexei in his wheelchair, but quickly looked away and fled down the hall to her room.

Once again, Dmitry had to agree with Alexei. The daily roll calls were humiliating enough. He could almost understand the necessity when it came to those that were employed by the Romanovs- there were so many of them that he imagined it was hard to keep track of all of them. But every morning Rodionov went down the line asking them, "Are you Olga Nikolaevna? Tatiana Nikolaevna?" as if he didn't recognize them, as if their faces hadn't been on postcards, chocolates, postage stamps for years.

But now he was requiring the former imperial children and their servants to sit for official photographs that would be used on ID cards. He had had the sitting room converted into a studio of sorts, and a professional camera that put the girls' box cameras to shame had been brought in. Inside the sitting room, Dmitry watched as they took photos of Tatiana head on, and then had her turn so they could take a photo of her profile. When it was Alexei's turn, though, they hit a snag.

"We need him to stand," Rodionov said plainly. Alexei turned to Dmitry in alarm, but Dmitry only stared back at Rodionov.

"Apologies, sir, but that's just not possible," he told the commandant.

"What do you mean it's not possible?" Rodionov demanded.

"He still cannot straighten his leg all the way, which make balancing rather hard," Dmitry said. "I can find Dr. Botkin if you require a second opinion."

"Well, let him at least try," Rodionov said.

"What if he falls trying to stand? He'd only hurt himself more, keeping us all here longer and wasting your time, plus you will have wasted film." Dmitry shook his head. "I can find a chair for him to sit in. You'll have to adjust the camera's height, but it can work."

"Who do you think you are, boy, giving me orders?" Rodionov growled. He stomped forward and grabbed Dmitry by the collar, much to Alexei's protest. He heard someone else approach them.

"Sir, if I may," Botkin said soothingly. "I believe it was merely a suggestion. However, it may be your best chance to get a good picture of the boy." Rodionov huffed one more time, but slowly released Dmitry's shirt before ordering his men to find a chair for Alexei to sit on.

Later, when they were all allowed in the yard for a bit, he found Anastasia wandering listlessly along the perimeter of the fence, turning a rock in her hands. She looked up in surprise when Dmitry fell into stride beside her, but didn't say anything. Instead, they walked for a few more minutes in silence, her brows furrowed together.

"I don't think Rodionov likes me too much," Dmitry said in the most casual voice he could manage. To his dismay, Anastasia didn't even smirk. "Then again, I doubt he likes anyone. It would be shocking to hear that he had any sort of affection for even his own mother."

"Don't," Anastasia said. "They'll hear. And if they report what they heard back to Rodionov, I don't think he'll let you get away with it."

"I'll be fine," he said with a bravado he didn't feel. "What could he do to me."

"A lot," she muttered. Anastasia stopped walking abruptly and turned to face Dmitry. "I need you to promise me something."

There was something about the expression on her face that told Dmitry she wasn't joking. He nodded eagerly. Whatever it was she asked him to do, he knew he'd do it. He'd stand on his head and sing a song. He'd climb onto the roof and send signals to the people in the outside world. He'd follow her to the ends of the earth.

"Anything," he said reverently.

"I need you to promise you won't fight to stay with us."

Dmitry blinked. "What?"

Anastasia glanced around quickly, then looked at him again. "Don't tell my sisters or brother. They don't need to know. But you need to promise me that you won't go to any extraordinary lengths to stay with us."

"Why not?" he demanded.

"Don't you see, Dmitry?" she asked, her voice taking on a pleading tone. "You're far too loyal to my family for your own good. Alexei told me what happened when he went to take his picture."

"I was only doing my job," Dmitry tried to say. Anastasia shook her head.

"We both know it's become more than just a job to you. And I don't want you to be dragged down with my family." She looked down at the dirt. "You could have a life if you were free from here. A normal life. I can't ask you to give up that possibility."

"And I can't just walk away," Dmitry insisted. "I won't do it."

Now it was her turn to stare him down and ask, "Why not?"

"A lot of reasons," Dmitry said, "one being that your brother needs my help."

"That's not a good enough reason," Anastasia said.

"What would be a good enough reason, then?" he demanded. "Because trust me, I've got plenty of reasons for why I need to stay."

"There is no good enough reason," she said, her shoulders drooping. She finally looked up at him again. "Please. Promise."

Looking into her eyes and seeing the desperation there, Dmitry felt the fight leave him. "Alright, I promise," he said, "but I don't understand."


	22. Chapter 22

Dmitry regretted his promise to Anastasia the moment the words left his mouth. It felt like such a betrayal to have even agreed, and it weighed on his conscience.

What made it even worse was that he was keeping it from her siblings. His promise to her directly conflicted with other promises he'd made, especially the one he'd silently made when he was 10 years old to Alexei, to serve him faithfully until he was no longer needed. Over the years that promise had been extended to the rest of the family as well. But he could not keep that promise and the one he made to Anastasia at the same time.

His one consolation was that he was considered far too close to the family to be simply let go by the guards. They would never allow him to just slip away, no questions asked. If he were to be let go, he would doubtlessly be interrogated, maybe even jailed, until they could be sure he wasn't keeping any information from the Bolsheviks.

Determined not to let anyone know something was up, Dmitry continued to act as normal as possible. He sat with Alexei for hours each day, reading and talking and staying out of the Big Pair's way when they were trying to help. After a few days, they were all given their ID cards, complete with their photos. Privately, Dmitry thought the sisters had taken better pictures of each other and himself with their box cameras. In their ID photos they all looked rather sick and empty.

Eventually Alexei even felt well enough to sit outside in his wheelchair a few times. Pushing him around the small yard, Dmitry felt himself let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It seemed Alexei was nearly recovered enough to be moved, and at this rate they could be reunited with the rest of the family within the month. Rodionov, however, seemed to have different plans.

"Three days?" he asked incredulously. "Alexei can barely get out of bed without help, how can he expect him to be ready to move in three days?"

Tatiana could only shrug. "Dr. Botkin tried reasoning with him again, but I don't think he took too kindly to it, especially after he spoke up to him that day we had out photos taken."

"But what happens if we hit a bump in the road?" Dmitry asked. "We have to convince him to wait a little more. Even a week would help."

"He's not going to listen to any of us," Tatiana seethed. "His justification is that Alexei has been spending more time out of bed, and therefore must be recovered enough to travel."

Dmitry shook his head. "So we'll keep him in bed more the next few days. I'll explain the situation to him, he'll understand. I'll keep him occupied."

"That's not going to change Rodionov's mind." Tatiana backed away, glancing over her shoulder. "I'm going to go tell Olga and Anastasia. You should start helping Alexei pack." She turned and fled from Nicholas and Alexandra's vacant room, where she had pulled him into to tell him the news. Dmitry swore under his breath, very much wanting to punch Rodionov and settling for toppling a pile of books to the floor.

Alexei seemed to have only a healthy disregard for himself when Dmitry broke the news to him. When he heard that they were going to be moved to Yekaterinburg, the boy brightened immediately and began chattering away about being reunited with his parents.

"Help me out of bed Mitya, I'll help you pack," he insisted, and Dmitry honestly contemplated jumping on him to keep him in bed.

"I'll handle the packing," he said. "You stay in bed and recover as much as you can before we have to leave."

"I'll be fine," Alexei said darkly, crossing his arms but making no move to get out of bed again. "We can use our coats and pillows to cushion my leg, it won't be a big deal. I want to help."

"Then tell me what to pack," Dmitry offered. "I just want to make sure there's no chance you'll get injured again."

Alexei huffed his annoyance, but listened to Dmitry, who practically flew around the room trying to pack everything into their suitcases. Looking at them, they seemed less full than they had when they first arrived, and he had to wonder just how many things the guards had stolen from them. He gritted his teeth as his blood boiled. The Bolsheviks had already stolen the Romanovs' freedom and pride; did they really need to steal trinkets too? He had no doubt the money for those items went to lining the guards' pockets.

Dmitry also had to be careful about where he stored his money. For nearly a year he had stashed his life savings in an old sock wrapped inside a shirt, kept at the very bottom of his drawer. So far the Bolsheviks hadn't found it, for which he was grateful, but now they were inspecting every inch of their bags before they could be added to the pile of luggage that would go with them. He had no doubt they would take every kopek if they found it, as they had done to Maria when they first arrived. It was only a small amount of money, and they had claimed she would get it back when they were free, but he had a sneaking suspicion that someone else had long since stolen it. So, with Tatiana's help, he managed to cut a seam in his suitcase's lining and store his money in there. Her expert hand sewed it back up, and unless the person knew what to look for, no one would ever be able to tell it was there.

The day before they were scheduled to leave, Rodionov strode into Alexei's room unannounced, leading two other men. Tatiana jumped up from her seat in shock, and Dmitry nearly knocked Alexei's suitcase off the dresser. Rodionov nodded at the men, then turned to address the three of them.

"I'm here to let you know that the boy's wheelchair is to be boxed up and transported to Yekaterinburg that way," he said.

"What? Why?" Alexei asked.

"It will take up too much room on the boat and the train," Rodionov said.

"But he needs that chair to move around," Tatiana said in a level voice. "His leg-"

"Can't take any weight and won't straighten, yes I know," Rodionov said impatiently. "The servant can carry him around." And with that, the men picked the wheelchair up and followed Rodionov out of the room.

"This is outrageous!" Tatiana exclaimed indignantly.

"We've endured worse before," Alexei said, sounding resigned. "At least we'll get to see our family soon."

"That's not the point and you know it," Tatiana said, pointing a finger at her younger brother. "Rodionov thinks he can belittle us for sport. How exactly is Dmitry supposed to carry you around everywhere? You're nearly as tall as him, now!"

It was true, Dmitry had to admit. Alexei seemed to be hitting his growth spurt a bit early, and already came up just about to his shoulder. Dmitry knew he could support the boy's weight for small periods of time, such as lifting him in and out of his wheelchair, but he wasn't sure how well he would do carrying him around everywhere.

"I've had lots of practice," Dmitry said. "I can carry him."

"And have you thought about how ridiculous you'll look?" Tatiana demanded. "You're barely more than a boy yourself. What will people think?"

"Oh, who cares what they'll think, Tatya?" Alexei yelled. "I honestly don't care about their opinions of us anymore, do you? The only thing that matters is seeing Mama, Papa, and Maria." And with that, Alexei crossed his arms and refused to speak to Tatiana until suppertime.

Dmitry didn't think he slept for a single second that night. He tossed and turned for hours, but his brain refused to be lulled to sleep. Alexei tossed and turned for a while as well, but eventually his breathing evened out and he settled. It was well into the early hours of the morning that Dmitry gave up on the idea of sleep and instead listened to Alexei's steady breathing.

He wondered what the next place would be like. Maria hadn't described the place to them in her letters other than the tall fence surrounding the house. Then again, they knew some of her letters hadn't come through. It was entirely possible she had described the house but the Bolsheviks confiscated the letter. After all, if it fell into the hands of the White Army, that description could lead to the Romanovs' rescue. They would never be so careless to let that happen.

He would probably share a room with Alexei again, which was just fine by him. The sisters would probably share a room as well. He could only hope that the new house wouldn't be any smaller than this one, or else they wouldn't have enough room to turn in a circle without knocking into someone. He wondered if the house at least had a yard, and if they would be allowed to use it.

Rodionov surprised them all by allowing them to sleep until a little past their normal time. The children and the servants all had a quick breakfast while their luggage was loaded into the trucks waiting to take them to boat. They were each allowed to carry one suitcase with them on the boat, though Dmitry could tell Rodionov didn't want to allow it. He was sure that if the Commandant had his way, they'd all be wearing the same clothes every day until they literally fell apart.

"Line up!" Rodionov barked at them as soon as the last crumb was cleaned up. They all did so, with Olga at the head all the way down to the young kitchen boy at the end. The children stood straight-backed, with Dmitry supporting Alexei, as Rodionov strode down the line holding his hand out for their ID cards.

"Are you Olga Nikolaevna?" he asked as he did every morning. "Are you Tatiana Nikolaevna?"

"Yes," they all replied as they did every morning.

One last inspection- Dmitry's suitcase was ripped from his hand and rifled through once again- and then they were told to form a single file line. Someone took Dmitry's suitcase as he picked Alexei up, much to the boy's embarrassment. They filed out of the house, Dmitry staggering under Alexei's weight, but he managed to make it to the motor car designated for them before setting Alexei down gently on the seat. His sisters immediately cushioned their brother with their coats, hoping it would offer him some protection from the bumpy roads.

One final glance at the Governor's House as they left it for the last time. Dmitry could only hope he wouldn't miss it. And then the line of motor cars made their way out of the gate.


	23. Chapter 23

_Hi, I promise I'm not dead and neither is this story. I meant to upload this a while ago, and time just really got away from me. Also, somewhere a few weeks ago this story turned a year old. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter._

* * *

Anastasia was certain that if the boat ride got any choppier, she would throw up all over those damn Bolshie guards and not feel the least bit sorry about it. They certainly deserved it, and worse. Moaning, she rolled over in her bed and wished Maria were there to comfort her. Instead she got a harsh reply from one of the guards stationed outside the room telling her to stop complaining.

Perhaps, she thought, she wouldn't be so miserable if she didn't have her corset on. But she and her sisters had been told that they weren't permitted to close the door to their room, lest they somehow manage to open the window and jump out. Dmitry and Alexei had been locked in their room for the night, and with all the guards loitering around none of the sisters had felt comfortable with taking them off. Especially considering the bulk of their family's jewels were concealed in them. So, they all slept with their corsets on and their coats nearby.

Her mind drifted to Dmitry and Alexei, shut up in their room. She assumed there was no window in their room, or she was sure Rodionov wouldn't have allowed their door to be closed. Even if there was a window, Alexei was much too frail to jump out, and despite his promise to her she knew Dmitry wouldn't just abandon Alexei like that.

The urge to cry suddenly overwhelmed her. The part of her that was still very much just a young girl wished things could go back to the way they were a few years ago. She wished she was still naïve and protected and, above all, innocent. She wanted to be with her parents and Maria, and she wished the people of Russia didn't hate them so much.

The part of her that had grown in the past two years thought she was being silly and stupid. Just because she had been happy back then didn't mean that the world was perfect. The people of Russia hadn't hated her family any less, they just hadn't had the chance to say so. She knew she had already accepted her new reality, but she did still long for the times when she didn't know any better.

Her breathing hitched in her chest, and she coughed a half-sob. Olga rolled over in her own bed to face her, and in the moon's pale light she met her eldest sister's eyes. Olga's eyes glanced at the door as the guard barked at her to be quiet once again, then darted back to Anastasia's. Wordlessly, Olga's hand slipped out from under her blankets and reached out to her. Anastasia felt her own hand reach out as well, and the second their fingers were intertwined Olga squeezed her hand securely.

They did not need to say anything to one another. Anastasia understood perfectly well what her sister was telling her. And though her back was turned to Tatiana, she could tell by her breathing that she was awake as well. She rolled on her back and stretched her other hand out toward Tatiana, and in the darkness their hands found each other as well.

* * *

Dmitry was grateful that the boat ride only lasted two days before they were loaded onto another train. He knew he shouldn't have been shocked by Rodionov's less than humane treatment, but he thought for sure that the man must have some moral foundation to stand on. Each morning, the second their door was unlocked, Dmitry would have to rush both of them to the bathroom to relieve themselves while the guards on the ship laughed at them like it was the funniest thing in the world. During the day, they had all been confined to a few rooms, and despite himself Dmitry found himself missing the relative freedom they had had in Tobolsk.

The train they were transferred to was even more cramped than the boat. The Romanov children and a few servants, Dmitry included, were led to a dirty, dingy third-class carriage. Still, it was better than the rest of the entourage received. They were put in a good carriage with only a few wooden benches.

To make things worse, members of the public were allowed to wander up and down the train as well, though they were kept out of the compartments the Romanovs and their servants were in. Still, Dmitry could feel their eyes on all of them each time they were escorted to the washroom. Tatiana tended to hold her head high and not look at anyone they passed, and her siblings followed her lead. But Dmitry couldn't help but glance at the other passengers as well.

It had been nearly a year since they had been surrounded by so many people besides the guards and commandants. It felt odd, and it was only made odder as Dmitry remembered how at home they had all been at grand balls and parties that were packed with people. And before that, before he lived with the Romanovs, he was on the street. Always slipping in and out of crowds of people, seeing what he could relieve people of. Now the crowds made him feel claustrophobic.

"Dmitry?"

Dmitry pushed himself off of the wall he was slumped against and sat up. "Yeah?"

Across the car from him, Alexei was staring at him through the darkness. His sisters had arranged their pillows and coats around him so he was well-cushioned, then curled up on the floor together to sleep. Dmitry could hardly tell where one sister began and the other ended, but the scene made his jaw clench. They shouldn't have to sleep on the floor of a dingy train car. Royalty or not, it was inhumane.

"When do you think we'll get there?"

It was a fair question. They had already been travelling for almost a week, and he was fairly sure that unless the train was hijacked by the White Army intending to smuggle them out of the country, it shouldn't be taking them this long to reach their destination.

"I wish I knew," he said honestly.

"Me too," Alexei murmured. They fell into silence again, Alexei looking like he was deep in thought. On the floor, one of his sisters inhaled deeply and rolled over into another, who sighed as well but shifter closer. Dmitry kind of envied them. He'd never had a sibling, and while he was very close to all of the imperial children, it wasn't quite the same. As close as they were, and as much as they wanted him there, he'd always be an outsider. There would always be that distinguished difference between him and them, in that he worked for them. He didn't have the same sibling bond they shared with each other, and he had always wondered what that was like.

"Hey Dmitry?" He looked up again to find Alexei staring at him.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here."

* * *

Dmitry woke with a start to the train's high-pitched whistle. Groaning and scrubbing a hand over his face, he sat up and began stretching. His back let out a series of pops that he thought maybe he should be concerned about, and he could feel a coating of rough stubble on his chin. He'd have to shave soon.

"Well, look who's finally up," Anastasia teased him. She was sitting on the bench across from him, the one Alexei had been on last night, with a book in her lap.

"What time is it?" he asked, cracking his neck and then looking around for her sisters and Alexei. "Where is everyone else?"

"I'm not sure where Tatiana and Olga went," she said, closing her book. "Alexei had to go to the bathroom, so a soldier carried him there. He didn't want to, but Rodionov ordered him."

"Why not just wake me?" Dmitry asked as he stood up. "He can't have gone all that long ago, you might as well have just gotten me up and had me carry him." Fear curled in the pit of his stomach as he imagined the soldier dropping Alexei. The soldier wouldn't know to watch both ends of the boy, to make sure he didn't knock him into a door or a wall.

Anastasia shrugged, lifting her book in front of her face. "Maybe he suddenly grew a heart and wanted to let you rest." Dmitry rolled his eyes. He doubted Rodionov even knew what a heart was, and Anastasia snorted when he told her as much.

The door at the end of the compartment opened, and the soldier walked in carrying Alexei. Tatiana and Olga followed close behind clutching each other's hands. The soldier deposited Alexei onto the bench next to Anastasia, then turned on his heel and left as quickly as he had come.

"He didn't say a single word to me the entire time he was helping me," Alexei huffed. "Honestly, you'd have thought I'd killed his family or something."

"Don't worry about that, Alyosha," Tatiana said from the corner of the car. Anastasia arched an eyebrow as she watched her sister rifling through all the suitcases, then closing them firmly.

"Are we arriving soon?" she asked, and Tatiana nodded.

"I overheard some guards say we were approaching Yekaterinburg," she said. "Unless they moved our family again without telling us, we should be pulling into the station any minute." Olga began helping Tatiana organize the suitcases while Anastasia abandoned her reading and glued her nose to the window. Dmitry took Anastasia's vacated seat next to Alexei.

"I can see the station!" Anastasia called, craning her neck to the side to get a better view. "I think there's a crowd of people waiting for the train."

"Or waiting for us," Alexei said. "Maybe they've got a hundred guards to escort all of us."

"Or maybe the White Army disguised themselves and are waiting to free us."

" _Stop_ ," Tatiana said forcefully. Olga had turned white as a sheet and was gripping the handle of a suitcase very tightly. Anastasia and Alexei immediately stopped talking, but Anastasia did turn back to the window.

The train ground to a stop suddenly, and Dmitry had to grab Alexei to keep him from sliding off the bench. After assuring that Alexei wasn't hurt, Dmitry stood and joined Anastasia at the window. There were a few motor cars lined up near the tracks, obviously waiting for the Romanovs and their entourage, and their luggage was already being unloaded off the train.

To Dmitry's horror, though, the workers began opening some of the suitcases and boxes and began grabbing things that were in them. Anastasia let out a sound of outrage as the workers began tossing their possessions into the crowd as the soldiers laughed. Those that caught the items immediately took off through crowd, taking whatever they had managed to grab with them.

"How can they be so cruel?" Anastasia spat as the soldiers finally began directing the workers to put the luggage in a truck. "What right do they have to go through our things and give them away?" Dmitry took her hand and tugged her away from the window.

"Come on," he said. "They'll come to get us soon, and it's probably better not to keep them waiting." Tatiana and Olga had managed to organize the suitcases, and Tatiana handed two to Anastasia who scowled.

"How come I get two?" she demanded.

"Because Dmitry has to carry Alexei, and he can't carry his own suitcase too," Tatiana said haughtily. "Be glad I don't give you anything else on top of it." Anastasia huffed again, but fell silent. Dmitry was about to pick Alexei up when the door opened again and another soldier strode in.

"I've been ordered to carry the boy," the soldier said stiffly.

Dmitry bristled. "I can handle it," he said, bending again. The soldier stepped forward and caught his arm, but Dmitry yanked it out of his grasp.

"The boy is my responsibility," the soldier said. Dmitry scowled at him. He straightened to his full height and deliberately stepped between him and Alexei. Standing up straight, the guard was still taller than him by a few inches, but Dmitry didn't back down.

"I was hired by the Romanovs to assist Alexei," he ground out. "I have cared for and protected him from harm for ten years. He's _my_ responsibility, and I will be carrying him."

The soldier's eyes flashed, but he nodded a few times. Dmitry relaxed the tiniest bit as the soldier turned away, and was caught off guard when he suddenly turned back and punched Dmitry squarely on the jaw. One of the sisters let out a startled yelp and Dmitry twisted as he stumbled so he wouldn't fall on Alexei.

"You will follow orders, boy," the soldier said. "If you resist again, you will be arrested." Dmitry glared up at him, gingerly pressing his hand to the forming bruise. The soldier yanked Alexei out of his seat and into his arms.

"Now, be a gentleman and carry the luggage for the girls," the soldier sneered. Anastasia gingerly laid Dmitry's suitcase next to him, but held the guard's gaze as she held onto her own suitcase. Neither Olga nor Tatiana moved to hand Dmitry their suitcases either.

"Very well," the soldier said. "If that's how you want to be." And without another word he turned on his heel and left the compartment. Olga, Tatiana, and Anastasia all followed quickly after their brother, who looked terrified, but Dmitry shuffled slowly after them.

The other members of the household were outside the compartment, waiting to get off the train. The soldier carrying Alexei and the sisters were the first to exit. It must have been raining in Yekaterinburg recently, since Tatiana's shoes were sticking in the mud. Dmitry went to jump down and help her, but suddenly two pairs of arms were blocking his way.

"Wait," one of the soldiers said, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket.

"What?" Dmitry asked.

"Botkin, Yevgeny!" the soldier called. Botkin gave the soldiers an uneasy glance as the soldiers dropped their arms, but he lowered himself to the ground and followed after the children.

"Demidova, Anna!" the soldier called, and one of Alexandra's ladies in waiting suddenly appeared next to Dmitry. She timidly shuffled forward, presenting her ID card, and the soldiers let her pass. The other members of the household began murmuring behind him.

"Kharitonov, Ivan!" Beyond the soldiers, Anastasia was staring at him, questioning him with her gaze. They seemed to be calling the names in alphabetical order, and many people were apparently being left behind.

"Trupp, Alexei!" The footman slid past the guards and to the waiting wagon. Dmitry gripped his suitcase tighter and waited for his name to be called next.

Instead, the soldier folded the sheet of paper and stuck it back in his pocket. "That's all of them," he said to the other.

The uproar in the train was instantaneous. The servants began yelling and pushing each other, desperate to get off the train. Several maids began sobbing and the tutors tried arguing with the soldiers. Dmitry was swept forward with the crowd, then pushed back angrily by the soldiers.

The yelling had caught the Romanov children's attention. In the wagon, Alexei stood up. "Dmitry?" he called. "Dmitry?"

Dmitry managed to get his elbow hooked around the door frame and pulled himself forward. "Alexei!" he called back as a soldier tried to push him back into the train. "Let me go!"

"Dmitry!" Alexei scrambled to the edge of the wagon, and his two oldest sisters had to grab him around his waist to keep him from jumping off. Tatiana planted her boot on the side of the wagon to help them keep him in place. Olga cried silently as she watched the soldiers push Dmitry back into the train.

Anastasia alone remained motionless. Dmitry met her gaze as one of the soldiers gave a sharp whistle and the doors began to slide closed. While her sisters wrestled their brother back into his seat, she continued to stare at him, tears running down her own cheeks. Holding his gaze, Dmitry saw her shake her head.

His promise. He hadn't forgotten. She hadn't either. He doubted she knew this was going to happen when she made him promise, but that didn't matter. He had given her his word. So, he stopped fighting back. His heart broke as he did, but he knew that there was no way he would be allowed off the train and into the wagon with them. He held her gaze as the doors continued to close, determined to keep watching her until he couldn't any longer.

A sudden, sharp shove to his back made him lose his balance. He fell from the train, narrowly avoiding getting his foot caught between the door and the frame. He landed on all fours, his suitcase crashing down next to him, but quickly twisted his face up toward the train. In the split second before the door slammed closed, he caught a glimpse of Monsieur Gilliard standing above him, looking satisfied with himself.

In the next second, a boot caught Dmitry in the side, and he crashed to the ground and curled in on himself. Another boot came down on his leg. The soldiers began yelling at him, and in the distance, Alexei's cries became more desperate. Closer, the train groaned and began to move forward, out of the station, taking the rest of the servants with it. With one last, particularly hard kick to the stomach, the soldiers spat on him and turned to leave.

Dmitry groaned and tried to at least sit up. Raising his head, he saw that now both Anastasia and Alexei were trying to vault over the side of the wagon, but the soldiers grabbed them roughly and pushed them back. Second later the wagons were in motion, carrying them away from where Dmitry lay.

Bruised and hurting, Dmitry bowed his head and let a few tears fall.


	24. Chapter 24

_Hi everyone. I am fully aware that I am The Worst. I meant to update this sooner and then school got crazy, and work got crazy, and I just needed some time to decompress from all that. I also apologize that this isn't the most action-packed chapter ever and therefore not as exciting as previous chapters, but I promise it was necessary. Hopefully the next update will be much quicker than this one._

* * *

In all the years that followed, Dmitry was never sure how long he remained there in the dirt. All he remembered was listening to Alexei's screams, even long after the wagon had disappeared with the Romanov siblings.

When he did stand, his legs and ribs screamed in protest, and he very nearly let himself collapse back down onto the ground. What use was it, he asked himself, to get up? He was completely alone in a strange place, cut off from the only people he knew. But he couldn't just lie there in the street forever, so he managed to get to his feet and pick up his suitcase.

Then came the second problem. He had no idea where he could go or what he should do. But people were starting to stare, making him uncomfortable, and so he managed to put one foot in front of the other, and then again, and again. Slowly, he limped away from the train station.

As he wandered aimlessly through the town, it seemed like someone had replaced all his thoughts with cotton. His brain felt fuzzy and slow, and vision kept going unfocused. Idly he wondered if he shouldn't have Botkin check him out for head trauma before he remembered that he was cut off from Botkin too.

It wasn't until the sun was dipping lower in the sky that he realized how long he had been walking. His feet ached, and his stomach had been growling for hours. He imagined he must look bizarre, turning down streets at random and practically dragging his suitcase behind him at this point. He wasn't even sure how to get back to the train station by that point. Soon it would be night time, and he would have no shelter. He considered finding a boarding house and paying for a room, but he had precious little money. He didn't want to spend a lot of it on a room when he didn't even know how long he'd be staying in Yekaterinburg. So, he continued to wander.

As luck would have it, though, just as the sun was about to set he stumbled across a house with a large barn in the back. Both looked a bit run down and there were weeds and ivy threatening to choke the barn. But there were no lights on in the house, so Dmitry darted across the lawn, wrenched the barn door open, and slipped inside.

Later he thought it should have struck him as odd that there was nothing in the barn- no animals, no hay, no equipment. But at that moment he was so tired and emotionally drained that he only set his suitcase down in a corner and curled up next to it to sleep.

* * *

He awoke to paralyzing nausea, the likes of which he hadn't felt for almost ten years. Groaning, he curled his arms around his middle and curled in on himself even tighter, hoping that would alleviate the pain. He knew he'd have to eat soon or else risk being too tired to think straight, much less figure out where the Romanovs were, and that thought alone gave him the strength to stumble to his feet.

Dmitry stumbled from the barn, leaning heavily on its wall. There was no movement inside the house, but he propelled himself away from it anyway and ducked out of sight. He didn't wander too far away from the barn, very aware that the only things he owned in the world were sitting unguarded in the barn, but far enough that he was at least under the cover of some trees.

Disappointingly, there was no fruit to be found on any of the trees nor any wild berries around, so Dmitry had to be content with stripping some bark off a nearby tree and chewing on it. It was tough and didn't taste pleasant, but it at least too the edge off and helped him clear his thoughts. He slipped back into the barn to retrieve his suitcase and shut the door almost silently behind him.

Thankfully his suitcase laid undisturbed, and there was no one else waiting for him in the barn. He could only imagine what would happen to him if a stranger found him trespassing on their property. He intended to stick around only long enough to cut the seam in his suitcase and retrieve his money, but upon inspection of the barn there were no tools he could use. He would have even settled for a rusty nail, but he couldn't find even that. Still chewing on the bark, he felt a realization dawn on him.

With his heart pounding in his chest, he quietly crept from the barn all the way up to the house. No one burst from it to yell at him, not even when he chanced a glance through the window. There was still furniture inside, but it looked like no one had been in there for weeks. He slipped to another window and peeked inside that one to be met with a similar scene. After circling the house once, he concluded that the house must have been abandoned.

None of the doors were unlocked, so he had to resort to throwing a rock through the window to get inside. After carefully climbing through, taking great care not to cut himself on the glass, he tiptoed through the house. A thick layer of dust covered everything, reinforcing his theory that the house was abandoned. In the kitchen he found a few cans of vegetables and beans, and he took those without hesitation. He would figure out a way to open them later. Upon finding one of the bedrooms, he considered sleeping in the house rather than in the barn. But the idea of sleeping in a stranger's bed, even an abandoned one, was too unsettling for him to stand. Instead, he took some of the blankets, his cans of food, and some books he'd found and brought them back to the barn.

As he was setting up a bed for him, he wondered what could have made someone just leave everything in the house behind. He couldn't come up with an answer that wasn't gruesome, so he stopped thinking about that.

He did manage to find a decently sharp rock on the ground outside the barn, and after a few tries he managed to cut through the lining in his suitcase. Dmitry counted the money he had carefully, then slipped a small portion of it into his pocket. He'd have to find something other than tree bark to eat for the time being, until he could figure out how to get the cans of food open. And he had to figure out where the Romanovs were.

He still felt a bit weak and unbalanced as he made his way down the road. A few times he had to stop and catch his breath after walking up an incline. At first, he wasn't even sure if he was headed in the right direction, but soon the buildings became a little closer together and shops began intermingling with houses. It surprised him how close the house and barn were to the center of town, considering it felt like it had taken him hours of walking down that road to find them the night before.

Thankfully no one looked at him strangely as he made his way through town. He did manage to buy some bread at a bakery, but all they had was dense black bread that was part of soldiers' rations. Still, he ate it greedily and had to remind himself that he had to ration his money to keep himself from buying more.

He was walking around town and lamenting to himself that it would probably be nearly impossible to find where the Romanovs were being held when he stumbled upon it by chance. Though he had not been able to witness Alexei and his sisters be escorted to it, it would be hard to mistake the house for anything but a prison.

Once again there was a tall fence around the outside of the house, taller even than the one in Tobolsk. Over the fence, Dmitry could just make out the tops of the upstairs windows, but even as he watched there were men on ladders painting the window panes white. Dmitry walked the perimeter of the fence, taking note where the guard posts were located. It stretched all around the house, with one small, heavily guarded gate as the only way in or out. He wondered what would happen if he walked up to the guards and informed him that he was a servant to the Tsar's family and wished to rejoin them.

Dmitry strolled down the street, so as not to raise the guards' suspicion. There were stores all around the house selling precious stones and jewelry (though Dmitry didn't have the faintest idea of who had enough money to buy them) as well as cathedrals and churches. There were a few homes as well. But there were also factories belching black smoke into the air and the machinery could be heard from the street.

Four houses down from the house the Romanovs were in was a taller, more ornate house with a brass plaque announcing it was the British Consulate. On a whim, knowing Nicholas' cousin was the king, Dmitry marched up the walkway and into the house.

"Good morning, sir, how can we help you?" A young woman greeted him in English as he walked in. Dmitry startled at being spoken to in a language other than Russian. His eyebrows knitted together as he tried to think of the words to answer back.

"Good morning," he managed to say. "I… want meet… with boss?" Though he knew his English was far from perfect, the woman seemed to understand him all the same. She nodded a few times, then led him to a pair of leather chairs.

"Wait here," she said, talking a bit slower for him. "It will only be a few minutes."

It turned out that a few minutes meant nearly twenty, but still Dmitry waited as patiently as he could. There was plenty for him to look at in the room, but it seemed like his fingers had developed a nervous twitch, and he couldn't stop bouncing his leg. He was just about to jump up and leave when a door opened and a man walked up to him and introduced himself as the British consul.

Sir Thomas Preston wasn't much older that Dmitry was, only in his early thirties, but as he swept his gaze over him Dmitry couldn't help but feel decades younger than him. He leapt to his feet and held his hand out to him, and the man shook it after only a moment's hesitation.

"Who are you?" Sir Thomas asked. "What can I do for you?"

"I am Dmitry Turov," he replied. "Speak Russian?" Sir Thomas nodded.

"My Russian is not good," he answered in Dmitry's native tongue, "but I will do my best." Dmitry nodded his thanks.

"I need to speak with you about the welfare of the Romanovs," he said plainly.

"Let's talk in my office," Sir Thomas said, sweeping his hand toward the door he had emerged from. Dmitry led the way in, and Sir Thomas closed the door firmly behind them. The space was dominated by an ornate desk in the center of the room, and the back wall was lined with bookshelves. Sir Thomas gestured for Dmitry to sit in one of the armchairs in front of the desk as he crossed to his own seat behind it.

"I would not advise you to announce that you are sympathetic to the Romanovs around here," the consul advised him, continuing to speak in Russian. "You are lucky that I am, too."

"I understand," Dmitry said. "I came in here because I wanted to know if there was anything you could do to help them."

Sir Thomas grimaced and tapped an uneven rhythm on his desk with his pen. The regret in his eyes was clear. "I've made many inquiries about the welfare of the family since the Tsar and Tsarina arrived, and especially since the Grand Duke and Duchesses arrived. So far none of them have been answered."

"But isn't there anything the British government can do?" Dmitry asked. "King George and Nicholas are family. Surely the king wouldn't want any harm to come to his own family?"

"I am afraid," Sir Thomas said gravely, "that the King's attention lies elsewhere. The war…." The older man trailed off, and Dmitry felt like screaming. Of course the war was important, but he felt the Romanovs should be more important to the king. Instead, he had to settle for clenching his fists and inhaling deeply.

"I understand where you're coming from," Sir Thomas said quickly when he saw the look on Dmitry's face. "I am concerned about these latest developments as well. Believe me, if there was a way for me to assist in any attempt to free the family without being directly accountable, I would do it." Dmitry looked up in surprise and met Sir Thomas's eye. It seemed like at least one official was willing to help.

"You would?" he asked. Sir Thomas bowed his head, then plucked a pen from his desk and quickly scribbled something onto a scrap of paper.

"Let me be very clear. The British government cannot help in any official capacity," Sir Tomas said. He slipped the scrap of paper across the desk toward Dmitry. "However, you will find that there are others around here that would be more willing to help. Mostly British merchants. If you chose to contact them, I could not stop you." Dmitry picked up the paper and scanned it, taking in the names written on it.

"You would help me?" He asked, still bewildered. "Why? No one else has."

"You took a risk, identifying yourself as a monarchist," Sir Thomas said. "Not everyone could have been that brave. Or perhaps foolish. I could have turned you in to the local soviet and had you arrested."

"I'm glad you didn't" Dmitry said sincerely. Sir Thomas nodded.

"Memorize those names, then leave the paper with me so I can dispose of it," he said. "I'll set up a meeting time and keep you in the loop. Please do not betray my trust." Dmitry stood to shake Sir Thomas's hand.

"One more thing before I go," he said. "Is there any way to communicate with the Romanovs? Anyone who could deliver messages for me?"

Sir Thomas shook his head sadly. "Unfortunately, there is not. Everyone who enters the house is thoroughly searched, even the nuns who bring the family fresh eggs and cream. I tried to deliver a note of welcome when the Tsar and Tsarina first arrived, but was turned away. There's no way to communicate with the family."


	25. Chapter 25

_I know this chapter is a bit shorter than the rest, but it was a good stopping point. Otherwise this chapter probably would have been about 10 pages long, and that felt excessive._

* * *

Dmitry found an excuse to walk by the Ipatiev House several times each day. It took a while, but eventually he was able to more or less figure out the family's schedule. At 11 in the morning they were allowed out in the yard, and then again for an hour from 3 to 4 in the afternoon. Every few days four young women were allowed inside the compound, presumably to clean. Each time they came two days in a row, and they stayed in from morning to dusk. And each morning, as Sir Thomas said, two nuns would deliver fresh milk and eggs to the family.

During the hours the family was allowed outside he could always hear Anastasia talking loudly, seemingly trying to engage her sisters in a game. One morning, when it seemed like the guards weren't watching, he pressed his eye to a knothole in the fence and managed to catch a glimpse of the four grand duchesses marching around the yard. Maria seemed to be the most enthusiastic, but both Olga and Tatiana trailed behind the little pair.

Suddenly Olga turned and started hard at the fence. Dmitry blinked in surprise, but continued to watch as she shook her head and muttered something to Tatiana. He straightened, retrieved a scrap of paper from his pocket, and quickly scribbled _'I pray for your welfare and release each night D.T.'_ on it. Making sure the guards weren't watching, he rolled the paper up, stuffed it into the knothole, and quickly walked away.

Later that afternoon, when he walked by again, there was another crumpled ball of paper sticking out of the knothole. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat as he retrieved it, and he didn't dare open it until he was a few blocks away. His fingers shook as he tried to uncrumple the paper.

 _'Many thanks, and prayers to you as well,'_ it read in Maria's handwriting.

Dmitry breathed out a sigh, relief and longing washing over him. While he was glad that he had some way to communicate with the Romanovs, he wished with all his heart that he had not been separated from them. It killed him, not knowing how Alexei was doing or being able to talk with the sisters. They had all been his only friends since he was a child, and he felt like he didn't know how to function without their companionship.

He stowed the scrap of paper safely in his pocket and continued walking. He circled the Ipatiev House twice, listening to Anastasia's voice rallying her sisters into a race until the guards ordered them back inside the house. Then, he turned and headed straight for the consulate.

"Good afternoon," the woman at the desk greeted him with a small nod and a smile.

"Good afternoon," he replied in his thickly accented English. "Is Sir Thomas here?" The woman nodded. She stood and disappeared down the hallway. When she returned Sir Thomas was with her, beckoning him down to his office once more. Dmitry followed quickly, fingering the note in his pocket.

"What can I do for you today?" Sir Thomas asked in Russian. Dmitry gave him a thankful smile, then placed the note on Sir Thomas' desk. The older man picked it up and examined it as if it were a precious stone and not a scrap of paper.

"I have a line of communication open with the family," Dmitry announced. "That was written by Grand Duchess Maria."

"How do you know it's from her?" Sir Thomas asked incredulously. "And how did you get this?"

"There's a knothole in the fence," he said. "I peeked through when the guards weren't watching and left them a note. When I went back, this was in the knothole."

"And how do you know it's Maria's handwriting?"

Dmitry hesitated. "I spent a lot of the time in the palace, once upon a time," he answered. "I could recognize any of the family's handwriting on sight." Sir Thomas continued to stare at him hard for a few seconds before nodding and returning the note.

"You must be careful not to use the knothole too often," he said. "If the guard notice you or the grand duchesses going over there too many times they may seal it off. Or worse."

"I understand," Dmitry said. "I don't want to risk being cut off from them entirely."

"Good."

"Have you heard from any of your merchant friends?" Dmitry asked hopefully. But Sir Thomas shook his head.

"Nothing promising, not yet," he said. "Give it time. It will take a lot of planning."

* * *

Day after day Dmitry continued to walk past the Ipatiev House. His heart leapt every time he heard one of the grand duchesses' voices, but he grew concerned after a couple of days when he had yet to hear Alexei in the yard. He asked about the boy in one of the notes he left for them. The reply was written by Anastasia, telling him that Alexei was still confined to his wheelchair and staying close to Alexandra.

As weeks passed, Dmitry continued to pass notes through the fence to the sisters. They took turned writing replies, but no matter who wrote they always thanked him for his loyalty. Every so often one of them would urge him to leave Yekaterinburg, and once Tatiana even told him he should flee the country. He imagined, though, that they must know he wouldn't listen to them.

He also continued to drop by the British consulate every week or so, hoping that Sir Thomas would have something new to report. He was able to set up a few meetings with merchants, but nothing promising had emerged yet. All he learned was that leaving by land would be risky, and leaving by river wouldn't be much better. Many of the waterways were blockaded, with only a few heavily guarded ones open to allow trade. Dmitry was quickly becoming more and more hopeless when Sir Thomas finally had something new to say.

"There is one thing you should know," he said during one of their usual check ins. Dmitry perked up immediately.

"What?" he asked. His thoughts began to run wild, and he had to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep himself from speculating further.

"One of my staff knows a young woman who is a cleaner at the Ipatiev House," he said.

"What?" he repeated. It was not at all what he was expecting, but it was certainly different from the past few weeks.

"Her name is Irina, she was recruited by the local Soviet," Sir Thomas continued. "I thought it was worth noting."

"But if she was recruited-"

"I'm told she has no sympathy toward the Bolsheviks," he cut in quickly. "She merely does the job for the money. She may be of value to you, though."

The idea of her was definitely of value, Dmitry thought. By now this Irina must know they layout of the house. If It came down to storming the house and removing the Romanovs by force, it would be better to know where he was going. And he had discussed the safest ways out of the country with one of the merchants just the previous week.

"Where can I find her?" he asked urgently. Sir Thomas gave him a disproving look.

"I think it's best if my contact introduces you," he said seriously, "but I don't want you rushing into anything. It's better to take the time to think things through. I don't know what plan you have going, but I assure you that there have been plans to rescue the family before that have ultimately failed because they were rushed."

"There were?" Dmitry asked. "When?" Sir Thomas pursed his lips.

"There were two that I know of when the family was in Tobolsk," he said. "One fell through when Nicholas and Alexandra were moved here."

"There were people trying to rescue them from Tobolsk?" Dmitry asked. His knees suddenly felt weak and he lowered himself into one of the chairs in front of Sir Thomas' desk. In his mind he started running through all the months they had spent in Tobolsk, searching for something that stood out to him.

There had been nothing, no sign or signal, that indicated there had been a rescue plot in place. He supposed that was a good thing; whatever the plan had been, it had been secure enough that it hadn't made it onto the Bolsheviks' radar.

"Are you alright?" Sir Thomas asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Dmitry breathed. "I'm just trying to think." He closed his eyes and thought even harder, practically willing a memory to come. Sir Thomas sat down as well and patiently waited for him to continue.

"They kept cutting down the amount of time we were allowed to go outside," he finally said. "Could it have been because of the rescue plan?"

"Possibly," Sir Thomas said. "So you _were_ with the family in Tobolsk. I had wondered."

"What gave me away?" he asked.

"Part of it was how concerned you were for the family. And part of it was a comment you made once, about spending a lot of time in the palace," Sir Thomas said. "Not many people were allowed to do that, and those that did were either killed or arrested, with very few exceptions."

Dmitry nodded. "I've been serving Alexei since we were both little boys," he said. "I care for the whole family very deeply."

"Well then, we better come up with a foolproof plan to rescue them," Sir Thomas said. "I'll put you in touch with Irina."


	26. Chapter 26

_Another rather short chapter again, I know. I apologize for that. But I hope you enjoy it anyway._

* * *

Dmitry walked as confidently as he could up the path to a small, run-down house. Beside him was the man Sir Thomas had spoken of. He had only introduced himself as Henderson; Dmitry assumed it was so he could keep some degree of anonymity. He himself had only given the man his first name, thankful that his name was fairly common.

The house before them was quaint, but it was clear that it had been some years since any substantial repairs had been made to it. The was a lone young woman outside, tending to the garden. Henderson led the way up the path and cleared his throat. The woman straightened up and regarded them warily.

"How can I help you?" she asked demurely.

"Irina," Henderson said, nodding at her. "This is Dmitry. He's the one I told you about."

"Hello," he greeted, never taking his eyes from her. She was rather short, and her hair a brownish blonde. The beginnings of a crazy plan began to form in Dmitry's mind, and he struggled to stamp it down. It did not give up easily, and his mind continued to try to run through a multitude of scenarios. As he continued to stare at her, she crossed her arms and stared back.

"Not to be rude, but did you come just to stare?" she asked.

"No," he said quickly. "I had a question for you. Regarding the Romanovs."

Irina's eyes darted over his shoulder, and Dmitry barely stopped himself from looking as well. She beckoned them inside the house, saying something about leaving the water on for tea. He and Henderson followed her inside, then sat at the table that she gestured at.

"I thought it might be safer to discuss this in here," she explained. "You never know who might be listening."

"I understand," Dmitry said.

"Do you have an update on the family?" Henderson asked, leaning his elbows on the table. Irina sadly shook her head, then stood. She laid out a few mugs in front of them, then poured tea in all three of them. Dmitry took a sip of his, then laid it back down on the table. It was rather watered down, and besides, it was too hot outside to be drinking hot tea.

"Nothing of significance," she said. "They are the same as always. Perhaps a bit quieter than before."

"You talk to them?" Dmitry asked suddenly, gripping his mug tighter in anticipation. Irina eyed him, then shrugged.

"Only a little. Sometimes the Tsar or his daughters thank us when they can. The servants too."

"And Alexei?"

"The boy?" she asked. "I only ever see him with his mother. They keep to themselves, those two. Isolate themselves a lot. I feel sorry for them. All of them."

Dmitry sat back in his chair as he tried to digest this information. He knew from the few notes the sister had managed to pass through the fence that Alexei was still mostly confined to his wheelchair, but from what Irina said it sounded more like Alexandra was keeping him close. He supposed he couldn't blame her. He could tell from their notes that they all, even Anastasia, were becoming rather hopeless.

"You said you have a question for me?" Irina asked. "You know the layout of the house, yes?" She nodded slowly.

"I was hired along with a few other girls to help clean," she said, "but I suspect you already knew that. What significance does the layout of the house have?"

"It may be important later," Dmitry said, unwilling to give away too much. "Knowledge of the house is valuable. No one is allowed inside, but you and the other cleaners, and some nuns."

"The nuns aren't ever allowed past the kitchen door," Irina said. "They won't be any help to you."

Dmitry nodded "Sir Thomas trusts you can help us. Is he correct?"

"Well that depends on what you're asking me to do," she replied shortly. "I can only offer so much."

"All I ask is that you help us communicate with the family," Dmitry said, holding up his hands. "We need someone on the inside of the house to help us."

Irina regarded him suspiciously. "How do I know this isn't a trap?" she demanded. "How do I know you're not a Bolshevik, trying to trick me?"

"I can vouch for him," Henderson said. "He has no sympathy for the Bolsheviks, like you."

"I only need to know if it's possible," Dmitry said. "Can you get messages to the family? Are there opportunities to?"

"Only a few," Irina said, shaking her head. "The guards watch them all very closely. But the daughters sometimes try to help us wash the floors of the bedrooms. Sometimes we're able to whisper to them. They're all quite kind."

Once again, the crazy plan fought its way back to the forefront of Dmitry's mind. Even as he heard Irina finally agree to help them and himself thanking her, all he could think of was how to make the plan work.

After leaving Irina's house, he walked straight to the consulate and asked for Sir Thomas again. The woman at the front waved him through to Sir Thomas's office as usual.

"Ah, my young friend," Sir Thomas greeted him. "Have you been able to meet with Irina yet?"

"Your merchant friends, the ones who know the routes out of Russia. Are there any based in Yekaterinburg?"

"You have a plan?"

"Maybe," Dmitry said. "And yes, I have met Irina. I actually came here straight from her house."

"Good, good," Sir Thomas said. "Now, as for your question, I'm not sure of the answer myself. But I know of a man who might know. Between you and me, he was actually involved in one of the rescue plots in Tobolsk. Have a seat, I'll give him a call."

Dmitry complied as Sir Thomas dialed a number and asked for someone named Armistead. He felt very jittery as they waited, and when Sir Thomas began speaking to the person on the other line, he began tapping his fingers incessantly against the arms of the chair. He only stopped when Sir Thomas gave him a sharp look, and instead took to bouncing his leg.

"Is it possible for you to pick up the cargo before then?" Sir Thomas asked. "It is essential that it be delivered as soon as possible." Dmitry grimaced at the idea of people, especially the Romanovs, being referred to as "cargo", but he understood the need to remain inconspicuous.

"Oh, very well," Sir Thomas said. "Yes, make the arrangements. I will make sure everything is set on this end." He hung up the receiver, then turned to Dmitry.

"My contact said he can get here by July 17th," he said. "Can you have everything ready by then?"

Dmitry's heart sank. July 17th was three weeks away. Part of him was grateful to have so much time to make sure everything got done to make his plan work, but so much could change in three weeks. He could only hope that the Bolsheviks didn't decide to move the Romanovs again.

"I can," he answered.


	27. Chapter 27

_Please, please, please don't be mad at me. I know I haven't updated in forever, and I know this is a rather short chapter. But I promise it's an important one, and that I'll do my best to update quicker this time. Grad school is a beast, to put it mildly._

* * *

Dmitry began focusing all his time and energy on planning out every detail in his plan that he could control. He did his best to account for every possible outcome, so that he was prepared for anything that might happen. He was fully aware that a lot of the possibilities he was planning might not ever happen, and that perhaps his energy would be better spent on other things. But the possibility of reuniting with the Romanovs and getting them to safety was making him irrational and paranoid.

He found himself visiting the consulate every day, asking Sir Thomas if Armistead had managed to arrange to get to Ekaterinburg any sooner, but the answer was always no. Sir Thomas sometimes seemed to get annoyed with him, but he never snapped at Dmitry, for which he was thankful. He knew he was being bothersome, but he couldn't help himself.

The weeks began passing unbearably slowly. In a way, he was glad. It gave him time to make contact with those who sympathized with the White Army and organize them. He had time to get a rough floor plan of the Ipatiev House from Irina. He was very careful to compartmentalize a lot of the information, just in case anyone involved was captured or had a change of as the 17th crept closer, Dmitry had a harder time planning everything out. There was only so much more he could do, and instead he was left with only a countdown to the day he would possibly be reunited with the Romanovs.

When only a week remained before the planned rescue, Dmitry went to visit Irina again. His stomach knotted itself the entire time he was traveling to see her. When he arrived at her house, she greeted him warmly then ushered him into the house.

"What bring you here today?" she asked him as she set a cup of tea in front of him as she always did.

"I need to ask you a favor," he said, tracing the rim of his cup with his finger.

"What is it?" she asked. He suddenly found he couldn't meet her eye and dropped his gaze to the table.

"Please understand that I am aware that I am asking a lot of you," he said. "Perhaps too much."

"Just say it. Don't keep me in suspense." Dmitry nodded.

"First I need to ask if you have a decent photo of yourself," he said. "Something that could be used for an ID."

"I can do even better than that," Irina said. "They made ID cards for all of us who come to clean. We have to present them whenever we go inside the house." Dmitry's heart leapt.

"That's good," he murmured, more to himself than to Irina.

"What does my I.D. photo have to do with anything?" Dmitry drummed his fingers on the table, trying to figure out the words.

"I'm willing to give you 800 rubles if you would consider switching places with one of the daughters for one night." Irina nearly dropped her cup halfway to her mouth. She jumped up to retrieve a towel, staring at him with a look of astonishment.

"You want _what?"_ she hissed, mopping up the spilled tea. Dmitry felt his face burn. He knew it wasn't a lot to offer, and if he had more, he would offer it. But the 800 rubles was what remained of his life savings, and he hoped it would be enough.

"There is a plan that I'm involved in," he said slowly, "to rescue the Romanovs. In order for it to work, we need to talk to one of the family members. You roughly resemble Anastasia, the youngest daughter."

"But why would we need to switch places?" she demanded. "Could I not just pass along the information to them?"

"No," Dmitry said forcefully. "The more people who know the details of the plan, the more likely it is to fail."

"If I'm discovered, I'll be executed."

"The family will be forewarned," Dmitry said. "You'll switch clothing with Anastasia, and they will surround you, so you look inconspicuous. You'll switch your photos on your ID cards, and you switch places again the next morning. It will be only one night, I promise. No one will know."

"The other cleaning girls will know." A manic tone had crept its way into Irina's voice, and Dmitry recognized the fear in her eyes.

"Can you trust them?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. The last thing he needed was for Irina to know he was just as scared as she was. "Would any of them help? Or could Anastasia walk out separately when they leave?" Irina thought for a moment.

"Perhaps my friend Ksenia might help," she said slowly. "She's become fond of the children."

"Will you help us?" Dmitry asked. "I can give you the money in cash today. I don't mean to be aggressive, but I do need an answer soon."

"Keep your money until the day before the switch," Irina said. "You've convinced me for now, but we were told we won't be needed to clean until the 16th. I'm not sure I won't change my mind between now and then."

Dmitry thanked her profusely and offered to help her clean up, but she told him to leave her alone to think. He obeyed, already planning some more. Irina could pass as Anastasia as long as one didn't look for too long. She was about the same height and build, and her hair was almost the exact same color. But she was a little heavier than Anastasia had been, and there was really no telling how much more weight she'd lost being on soldiers' rations. He thought that fact could be hidden by the right clothing, but he'd have to warn the family ahead of time.

It suddenly dawned on him that he could be face to face with Anastasia in a little under a week. And with any luck, all of the Romanovs would be free shortly after that. He knew it wouldn't be easy and getting them out of the country would be the hardest part. But if they could manage to pull it off, the future would be wide open for all of them. Dmitry's heart leapt with joy as he thought of it.


	28. Chapter 28

It was the longest week of Dmitry's life. He spent it pacing endlessly, always glancing over his shoulder. He was so paranoid that someone would arrest him suddenly that he had to remind himself multiple times to behave normally. He tried to limit the amount of times he walked past the Ipatiev House each day, so the guards wouldn't become suspicious of him. And he didn't dare pass any notes to the family through the fence until he could be certain his plan would work.

To his relief, Irina didn't change her mind. It was with only a little hesitation that he handed her every kopek he had on the 15th of July. He thanked her profusely once again, but stopped when she went rather gray.

"It's only for one night," he said again. "I swear."

"I know," she said grimly.

He left shortly after that, more anxious than he had been all week. After returning to his barn, he managed to scribble a quick note to the family, telling them that Irina would be switching places with Anastasia. He wrote as many details as he dared, then folded it up tight and stuck it deep in his pocket.

He still had a few hours before the Romanovs would be allowed out into the yard again, so he decided to do a quick inventory. He only had a few days' worth of food left, but with any luck that wouldn't be a huge issue. He desperately needed to wash his clothes but figured that could wait as well. He didn't want to get too caught up in a task and miss his chance to get the note to the Romanovs.

He settled for skimming through a photo album. He'd found it in his suitcase not long after he'd settled into the barn. It was full of photographs from years ago; he himself appeared in a few of them, and he couldn't have been older than 14 in them.

Idly he wondered what the future would hold for them. They'd have to go south or west to escape, and quickly or else face an even worse fate. There were rumors that the White Army was approaching from the west. South would bring them out of the country altogether, and Dmitry wasn't sure which was the best option.

He left the barn to go see Sir Thomas and ask if he had any ideas. He also figured he should ask about Armistead, but was told that he hadn't arrived yet.

"Don't worry about it too much," Sir Thomas said when he saw Dmitry getting anxious. "I'm sure he'll get here soon. He's never let me down before.

"I hope so," Dmitry muttered. "This whole plan depends on him. There's no point in storming the house unless we have a way to get the family out of the country."

He felt bad about not telling Sir Thomas about his plan to have Irina switch places with Anastasia. He rationalized it as compartmentalizing information again, but deep down he knew he didn't want Sir Thomas to try to talk him out of it. He knew it was despicable of him, and he didn't care. He knew there was every chance his plan wouldn't work. If there was a chance that Anastasia could be free, even for just a few hours, it was worth it to him.

He walked past the knothole in the fence a few times that afternoon, trying to build up his courage. Eventually he managed to make himself walk up to the fence and peek through the hole. Only Tatiana and Maria were outside, and he made sure one of them had spotted him before poking the note through the hole and walking away. The next time he passed the knothole, the paper was gone. There was no turning back now.

* * *

The 16th of July dawned hot and sunny. After tossing and turning all night, Dmitry rose earlier than usual and walked to the center of town. He felt very jumpy and jittery, and kept his distance from the Ipatiev House so he didn't raise the guards' suspicions. Instead he strolled around town, peeking into bakery windows and fantasizing about the food he would buy if he hadn't given all of his money to Irina.

He wondered what the family was doing right now. They were probably awake, and they were probably nervous as well. He knew he was asking them to take a huge risk, Anastasia most of all, and he hoped she at least had the good sense to act as though nothing was amiss. It was something that occurred to him only after passing the note through the fence; Anastasia was the best actress of the children, and probably the only one who could pull it off.

He imagined they would all be spending as much time as they could with Anastasia right now, just in case- Dmitry didn't finish that thought. His plan would work. Irina wouldn't be discovered, and the Romanovs would be rescued within the week. It had to work. He didn't know what he would do if it didn't.

At around 8 am, he watched the cleaning ladies walk through the gates into the Ipatiev House, Irina among them. She and another woman, who he could only guess was her friend Ksenia, walked arm in arm a small distance away from the rest of the group. They were all admitted past the gate and disappeared.

Dmitry continued wandering around town, doing his best to remain inconspicuous. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't keep himself from wandering near the fence at 11 am and quickly peeking through the knothole. Tatiana and Nicholas were the only ones outside, walking arm in arm rather stiffly around the perimeter of the yard. Dmitry's stomach twisted, and he walked away quickly. He didn't want to think about the stress the family would be going through right now.

The last hour before the cleaning ladies emerged seemed to drag on forever. Not wanting to draw any attention to him, he stood on a street corner a few roads further down than he usually did and tried to pretend that he was just waiting to meet up with a friend. Technically, he wasn't lying to himself, he reasoned.

Finally, at just past noon, the gate opened, and the group of cleaning ladies marched out. He watched them carefully, half expecting the guards to yell "Hey you!" and grab Anastasia. He was terrified one of them would recognize her, even wearing the simple dress and bonnet of a peasant. What would he do if she was recognized? Should he run up and try to help her? Or would it simply get her into even more trouble.

Dmitry strained his eyes, trying to pick Anastasia out among the group but couldn't figure which one was her. He supposed it was a good thing that she was so indistinguishable from the rest, but his heart began to pound anyway. Was she even there? Were she and Irina able to make the switch? It was only when he saw one of the figures loop her arm in another's that he recognized her.

Irina's friend, Ksenia, led Anastasia to a shop a couple of streets away from where Dmitry stood, and they began pointing through the window and chatting. Even from that far away, Dmitry could tell Ksenia was doing most of the talking. He strode toward them quickly, trying to make sure they saw him approaching so they weren't startled.

"Good luck," Ksenia whispered to them as she handed Anastasia off to him. "I'll meet you here in the morning." Dmitry nodded his thanks, then threaded his fingers through Anastasia's and led her away from the Ipatiev House.

Suddenly the magnitude of what he had done hit him. Anastasia was free! For the first time in years, she was not a political prisoner of the Bolsheviks. He glanced down at her with a wide grin, but she wasn't looking at him. Instead she was staring at the ground as they walked, her face rather white and a plainly terrified expression on it. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, but she only looked up him briefly before training her eyes back on the ground.

He gave a subtle glance over his shoulder and was relieved to find that none of the guards had followed them. He quickened his pace, and Anastasia silently followed. It worried him, how quiet she was being. It wasn't like her at all. But he had to get her to the barn and out of public. They could talk freely there.

* * *

 _Okay, a little longer this time. I chose to stop it there because I planned for Dmitry and Anastasia to have a pretty lengthy conversation, and I didn't want this chapter ending up, like, 12 pages long._


	29. Chapter 29

Anastasia hardly spoke the entire trip back to the barn and she barely met his eyes, which greatly concerned Dmitry. Normally he would have expected her to talk nonstop. Perhaps she didn't want to say too much while they were still in public, just in case.

He was extremely relieved when they managed to get to the barn without incident. As soon as the door was closed, he began trying to make things a little homier for Anastasia, who remained close to the door as she glanced around.

"I know it's not much," he said, "but it's safe."

"It's better than that house," she murmured, then shuddered. Dmitry's blood ran cold. What could have possibly happened in the Ipatiev House?

"Here, sit down," he said, guiding her to his makeshift bed, which was mostly comprised of the blankets he had taken from the house. Anastasia complied, though she looked a little overwhelmed by the barn. She tucked the skirt of her borrowed dress around her knees and glanced up at him.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, and she shook her head. Dmitry knew he was hovering, but he suddenly felt awkward around her. He massaged the back of his neck, then sat down in front of her.

"Do you need anything?" He asked gently.

"Why am I here Dmitry?" she asked, finally meeting his eye for longer than a few seconds. "My family…. If the guards discover that I'm not there-"

"They won't," Dmitry insisted. "We made sure the plan was foolproof. I trust you switched pictures on your ID cards?" Anastasia nodded.

"Then everything should be fine," Dmitry continued. "It'll all be fine."

"I'm so scared," she said softly. "I don't know why you made me do this."

"Because there's something you and your family need to know," he said. "It was too risky to put on paper."

"And this plan wasn't?" Anastasia challenged. Dmitry had to force himself not to smile at the fight she was now putting up. It made him feel as though she was normal again.

"It carried less risk," he said. "Listen, there's a plan to rescue all of you."

"We know," Anastasia said, and Dmitry startled.

"You know?" he asked. "How could you know?"

"The notes," Anastasia said. Her brows furrowed together as she watched him. "We've been getting notes for weeks now."

"What notes?" Dmitry demanded, stepping closer to her.

"The notes in the milk bottles," she said, trembling a bit. "The nuns bring us fresh milk, and the notes have been stuck in the corks of the bottles. Are you involved with those?"

Dmitry shook his head. "If there's another plan to rescue you, we've never heard a word of it. What do the notes say?"

"They told us to wait for a sign, and then attempt an escape," Anastasia said slowly. "We didn't know what that meant, so we waited and waited. Then we got that note from you saying that I had to switch places with the cleaning girl. We thought that was the sign." Dmitry stiffened.

"That wasn't a sign at all," he said, trying not to let her see how panicked he was. "Does your family still think it's a sign? Will they try to escape tonight?" If the Romanovs were caught trying to escape, there was no telling what the Bolsheviks might do to them. And with Dmitry's rescue plan so close at hand, he didn't want anything jeopardizing it. To his relief, Anastasia shook her head.

"I don't think they'd try anything until I return," she said. "They wouldn't want to risk us all being separated again. And when I go back, I can tell them not to do anything. What's your plan?"

Dmitry quickly explained everything, from the plan to storm the house with the local White Army supporters to Armistead whisking them away on the river. The entire time he tried to keep him mind from wandering, but he couldn't help but wonder who else was out there planning an escape.

Could it be there were more Imperialists in Yekaterinburg than they thought? Whoever they were, they seemed to be much bolder than Dmitry was. They had actually asked the Romanovs to attempt an escape on their own with very little promise that there would be a safe rescue for all of them at the end of it.

"How is your family?" he asked after Anastasia had had a chance to process his plan. Anastasia shrugged one shoulder.

"We're as fine as is expected," she said. "Alexei's voice is changing. He sounds like an adult, now. I'm worried for Maria. Everyone was so angry with her because she was flirting with the guards."

"She _what?"_ Dmitry gasped. "Why would she want to do that?"

"Well, it's very boring in there," Anastasia said hotly. "I trust you remember what it was like in Tobolsk? Well here there are even more restrictions and rules. We can hardly turn in a circle without offending someone." Anastasia stood up and crossed her arms, pacing away from Dmitry. He followed after her, apologetic.

"I'm sure it's terrible in there," he said soothingly. "I can't imagine how strong you all must be to endure it. All I meant was the guards treated you so horribly before, I don't understand why she might want to even talk to one."

"Mashka was always a flirt," Anastasia laughed. "You remember what she used to say. She wanted to marry a soldier and have lots of babies." She trailed off, thinking. Then she abruptly met Dmitry's eyes again.

"It's very lonely in there," she continued. "And we have so few companions, it's easy for me to see it. If we weren't being held captive, I don't think she'd be quite so willing to talk to them." Dmitry thought back to Christmas, and when Anastasia had asked him to kiss her. He wondered if there was a double meaning to his words, an explanation to Dmitry himself, who had replayed that moment countless times.

"Well, you'll be free soon enough," he said finally, shaking himself out of his reverie. It was best not to overthink things, he reminded himself, especially when all he had was, at best, speculation.

"So this Armistead fellow," Anastasia said. "What is he like? Do you trust him?"

"Well, yes," Dmitry said slowly, "I do trust him. Or, really, Sir Thomas trusts him, so I trust him."

"What?" Anastasia said. "But you've met him, right?"

"No," Dmitry admitted. "I haven't. But I promise Sir Thomas is trustworthy, and if he thinks Armistead is trustworthy then I trust him."

"Well I've never met this Sir Thomas," Anastasia said, turning on her heel to face him. Her shoulder-length hair narrowly missed his face. "I don't know if I could, or should, trust him. And I know even less about this Armistead."

"Everything will be fine-"

"But how do you _know_?" Anastasia demanded. "You've said that before. Everyone has. But so far nothing has been fine! This is my family we're talking about."

"I just have faith that everything will be fine," Dmitry said. "I know there's no guarantee. I truly wish there was."

"I do too," Anastasia said. "But that doesn't mean that I'll trust someone so blindly. You said this man hasn't even arrived yet. How are we going to be rescued tomorrow night if he isn't here?"

"He'll be here," Dmitry said resolutely. "I'll go talk to Sir Thomas right now, and he'll have an update. Armistead will be here, don't worry." He led Anastasia back to makeshift bed. She sighed but followed wordlessly.

"I truly hope this plan of yours works, Dmitry," she said.

"It will," Dmitry insisted. On a whim he kissed her hand, and hoped it wasn't a trick of the light that made her cheeks look a little pink. "Stay here, I don't want to take the chance that someone recognizes you. I'll be back soon."

Dmitry closed the door of the barn securely behind him, then took off in the direction of the consulate. He hoped he appeared casual, though he had to try hard to keep himself from running. Armistead _would_ be here, he assured himself. Really, they didn't need him here until tomorrow, if it came down to it. The rest of the plan was already in place.

He strode through the door of the consulate and was waved through to Sir Thomas' office. Dmitry knocked twice before letting himself in, just in time to see the older man, rather gray, hang up his telephone.

"Your timing is impeccable, my boy," he said gravely. Dmitry's stomach plummeted to his toes, and he swallowed hard before speaking.

"Is Armistead here?" he asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer. Sir Thomas shook his head. "But will he arrive tomorrow?"

"No," Sir Thomas sighed. "I'm afraid he got caught in a blockade. The Red Army isn't letting anyone through."

Dmitry fell into a chair, processing what Sir Thomas had told him. Armistead wasn't here. He wouldn't be here in time. There was no way to whisk the Romanovs out of Yekaterinburg.

"That's not to say he won't get here at all," Sir Thomas said quickly when he saw the expression on Dmitry's face. "They might let him through the blockade eventually, or he could find another route to Yekaterinburg. Your plan can still work. It might just have to be delayed."

"Do you think it could happen?" Dmitry asked. He was scared to hope, but he also wanted some good news to take back to Anastasia.

"Don't lose hope yet," Sir Thomas assured him. "There's still a chance."

Dmitry sat there a few moments longer, wondering if he should tell Sir Thomas about rescuing Anastasia from the house. He hadn't breathed a word about that plan to anyone but Irina, in the hopes that fewer people who knew meant fewer chances for it to fail. In the end, though, he decided not to tell him. Anastasia would be back in the Ipatiev House soon enough, he rationalized, and Sir Thomas would never need to know what a risk he'd taken.

He left shortly after that, but took his time walking back to the barn, trying to figure out the best way to words things to break the news to Anastasia. He knew she wouldn't take it well, and would say she knew it and she told him so. And she had. Dmitry didn't like it.

It would all be fine, he reminded himself. Sir Thomas had said so too. And it wasn't a total waste. Anastasia knew the plan. It wasn't like the plan was going to change. She would switch back in tomorrow morning, and tell her family about the plan and what would happen. It just had to be pushed back was all. As soon as Armistead managed to get to Yekaterinburg, Dmitry would slip a note through the fence like he had been doing.

He was feeling much better about the situation as he turned toward the barn and realized the door was wide open. He rolled his eyes; he knew Anastasia could be reckless, but he thought she would at least know better than to open the barn door. She was in a dangerous position and couldn't risk anyone seeing her. He marched inside, ready to tell her off. But she was not where he had left her, on his makeshift bed. And a quick glance around the barn told him that she wasn't there at all.


	30. Chapter 30

Dmitry's heart stopped for a few seconds, and then picked up again in overtime. Reminding himself that it was too soon to panic, he turned back toward the door of the barn, hoping to see Anastasia walk back in.

When she didn't, he began to examine the barn door. The wood appeared undamaged, and there were no visible signs of struggle both inside the barn and outside. That was a good thing, he assured himself. That meant she had walked out on her own. But then his brain reminded him that someone could have forced her to walk out at gunpoint, and he nearly choked in his panic.

He rushed back outside the barn and began searching the ground for footprints, but truthfully he didn't know what to look for, as he had never been taught. He spotted what he thought might be footprints leading up to the abandoned house. He ran up to a window and pressed his nose against it and was disappointed when he didn't see her. Perhaps she was in another room, though, so he climbed through the broken window.

"Nastya?" he called, hoping anyone listening wouldn't recognize the nickname. "Nastya?" There was no answer. He walked almost silently through the house, calling out softly each time he passed a door.

After determining that she wasn't in the house anywhere, Dmitry was kicking himself as he climbed back out through the window. It was beginning to get dark, and he had wasted precious time with little to show for his efforts. Panic was beginning to set in, and he glanced around wildly trying to find a clue of where Anastasia had gone.

Maybe she had gone wandering into the forest. After being held captive for so long he could hardly blame her for wanting to explore, despite the danger. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was paying attention to him then stepped into the forest, calling for her softly still.

Deeper and deeper he wandered, hoping to stumble upon her at any moment. Once or twice he thought he saw what might have been a footprint, but in the fading light he couldn't find a trail to follow. After a while he began to question if he hadn't imagined them.

His brain was in overdrive, trying to understand what had happened. Had her absence been discovered? Had the Bolsheviks sent soldiers to hunt her down? He hoped not. He hadn't seen any soldiers searching building as he walked back to the barn, but then again, he had been distracted. The barn hadn't shown any signs of forced entry, but the image of Anastasia being led out at gunpoint forced its way back to his mind.

Or maybe she had left on her own but been discovered by herself. Yekaterinburg held few people who supported the Romanovs, and Dmitry imagined some would have expected a reward in exchange for an escaped princess.

Night had fallen, but Dmitry searched on. He knew it was well past curfew at that point, but he continued walking through the forest, calling out as often as he dared. He didn't think anyone would be patrolling the woods, but he wanted to be cautious just in case.

More than once he tripped, having not seen a dip in the ground. Many times, he just managed to avoid walking into a tree. The trees were denser, blocking out any light from the moon. He had never wandered this far into any woods before, let alone these woods. The hairs on the back of his neck kept standing up, and he would look around half expecting a soldier to be nearby, ready to arrest him.

He didn't know how long he had been searching when he was forced to give up, but it was pitch black and he knew he was going to have a hard time finding his way back to the barn. He continued to call Anastasia's nickname every so often, but the only reply was the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Maybe she had gone into the woods, but had been back at the barn for hours, he hoped. Perhaps she was waiting there, as worried for him as he was for her. He stumbled blindly through the trees, holding on to that last shred of hope. If she wasn't there….

If she wasn't there, he wouldn't be able to send her back into the Ipatiev House. She would remain free, perhaps, but Irina would be trapped. There would be no way for them to swap places again. And the longer Irina was in there, the more likely it was that someone would discover that Anastasia was missing. They would probably execute Irina. The family would be punished badly. Not that the Bolsheviks ever really waited for a reason to punish them, but this time they would have a really good reason. Dmitry imagined some of the house guards would be punished as well, for allowing her to escape in the first place. And there was no telling what they would do to Anastasia.

Dmitry broke through the trees and ran back to the barn, thankful for the darkness. The doors were still open. His stomach plummeted. Still, he continued to run until he was inside.

"Anastasia?" he called, but there was no response. She wasn't there.

Dmitry closed the doors of the barn and curled up on his bed, fighting the urge to punch something. He had succeeded in rescuing Anastasia only for her to go missing hours later. He had failed her. And he had failed Irina, who would be trapped. So many people would suffer for no good reason. Dmitry felt sick to his stomach. He tossed and turned all night, never settling into a real sleep. Each time he heard the slightest noise outside, he was instantly awake. But Anastasia never came through the doors. By the time the sun began to rise, Dmitry was exhausted down to his bones.

He waited for as long as he could, even checking the closest part of the woods. The early morning rays hit the dew at an angle that made the forest appear to glow the exact color of Anastasia's hair, which did nothing for Dmitry's frayed nerves. But ultimately he admitted to himself that it was pointless, and that it was time for him to confess to Sir Thomas.

He dragged his feet the entire way there. He knew exactly which look he would get from the older man, and he wanted to postpone it for as long as possible. Sir Thomas would probably lecture him, and he knew he deserved it, and more. Much more. And he would ensure it because he knew his selfishness would cause the suffering of too many innocent people.

All too soon, Dmitry arrived at the consulate. He took a moment to steel himself before entering, knowing it wouldn't be enough. The woman at the front desk wasn't there yet; it was still very early in the morning, though he didn't know the exact time. He walked down the hall to Sir Thomas' office anyway and knocked as steadily as he could manage.

When the door opened, Sir Thomas beckoned him inside, looking rather gray. Did he know already what Dmitry had to tell him? Was his face that transparent? Dmitry stood in front of him and bowed his head.

"Sir, there's something I need to confess," he began, but Sir Thomas held up a hand. He looked up, surprised. His stomach began churning when he realized just how grave Sir Thomas looked.

"It can wait, Dmitry," he said. "Sit down. Something happened last night. Something you need to know."


	31. Chapter 31

_Bit of a shorter chapter this time, sorry guys. Summer classes just ended, but normal classes start up again next week. I'm hoping to write a lot this week, but the updates might be slow still. Thank you all so much for your patience, and I hope you'll continue to be patient with me!_

* * *

Dmitry stared at the train, trying hard not to think about the fact that the last time he was on a train, Tsar Nicholas II was alive. And now he wasn't. Now he was dead, because the Bolsheviks had shot him, and God only knew what they had done with his body. He only hoped that they wouldn't put it on display for everyone to point at and make fun of. He didn't think he would be able to bear it, let alone what it would do to the remaining family.

The last time he was on a train, he was with most of the Romanov children. He knew where they all were, roughly. Now he had no idea. The rumor was that Alexandra and all the children had been moved yet again, to be held safely out of the White Army's reach. Dmitry had no idea where they could be, and they already had a few days' head start. Wherever they were, Dmitry was sure Alexei was terrified. With Nicholas gone, Alexei would now, at the age of 13, be considered the head of the family.

The last time he was on a train, Anastasia had been with him. She had slept curled up on the group with her sisters. She had joked around with him. The two of them had stood at the window and watched the soldiers toss the family's belongings to the crowd of onlookers. And now? Now he thought her whereabouts were more of a mystery than the rest of her family's. It was as if she had vanished into thin air.

Dmitry fingered the music box in his pocket, hoping it wouldn't attract too much attention. It was his ray of hope. It suggested that Anastasia was still free, somewhere. She couldn't have been in the house when her family was moved, because she would never have left it behind, no matter how rushed they were. It was far too precious to her.

It was really a stroke of luck that had allowed it to fall into his possession. It had been obvious, that first day, that the Romanovs were no longer at the Ipatiev House. Though a few soldiers remained, the house was mostly unguarded, with the front gates left wide open. By midday a small crowd of onlookers had gathered, but even the cleaning women were turned away. He had been approached by Irina's friend, Ksenia, who was trembling with worry.

"They won't let us in," she had said shakily. "They said our service wouldn't be needed anymore. Everyone is saying the family has been moved. Is it true?"

"That's what I heard," Dmitry had replied. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for getting you and Irina mixed up in this."

"What do we do?" Ksenia asked. "We have to find her. She must be so scared."

"I don't know," was all he could say.

A few days later, the soldiers had disappeared from the house completely. They had left in the night and left no trail for Dmitry to follow when he awoke the next morning. But they had left the house unguarded, so Dmitry had gone in.

It had clearly been looted already. Drawers had been pulled out and tossed aside, the beds stood bare with their coverings heaped on the floor, curtains had been pulled off their rods. A small bathroom was decorated with crude graffiti and colorful phrases. The kitchen cabinets had been emptied, with only a stray bean or grain of rice left behind. He hadn't been able to find a single plate or utensil anywhere, and wondered if the guards had taken them, or if the people had.

He'd wandered into the family's living quarters, but those had been rather picked over as well. He only managed to find a stray item here and there, like a glove and a sock, both of which he picked up. He couldn't be sure which of the children it belonged to, but he was sure they'd want it back.

He had been about to leave to search the rest of the house when he stumbled across the cabinet. It was tipped on its side, half hidden by the couch. Its legs and door had been roughly torn off, perhaps for firewood, he thought. Inside it was an ungodly mess. Whoever had taken the legs off the cabinet had clearly not cared about the fine china that had been housed inside it. The plates and cups inside were smashed to bits, smaller fragments littered about. A fine layer of porcelain dust covered it all. Dmitry wouldn't have reached in, if he hadn't seen a glint of gold.

His fingers still bore the tiny cuts and scratches from liberating the music box. He wondered why Anastasia had stored it in there, and why there had been fine china in the house at all. He didn't want to question it too much, since it had led to the precious item falling into his possession. The fall must have jammed it a bit, because he couldn't get the lid open no matter how hard he tried, but Anastasia would be thrilled to have it back.

If he managed to find her again.

That thought brought him crashing back to the present. Russia was an incredibly vast country, home to millions of people. Trying to find one specific person, especially if that person was on the run and trying to stay inconspicuous, would take nothing short of a miracle.

The train whistled, and people began to board. Dmitry followed the crowd up the steps and into car, taking the first seat he saw. He gripped his ticket tightly and pulled his suitcase close to his body, holding onto both as if they were his lifelines. Which, in a way, they were.

He hadn't been able to bring himself to tell Sir Thomas what he had done. As far as the older man knew, Anastasia had never switched places with Irina, and was with her family when they were moved. As such, he made the argument that Dmitry leave Yekaterinburg, and Dmitry could say very little to argue without confessing his worst sin. What made it worse was the Sir Thomas had offered to pay for Dmitry's train ticket back to St. Petersburg, since he himself didn't have a single kopek to his name.

Dmitry hoped Anastasia might think to return to St. Petersburg, too. He hoped that wherever she was she had heard by now that her family had been moved. She could be logical when she needed to be, he knew, and she would realize that she couldn't track down her family by herself. He hoped she would want to return to the place where she grew up. She'd have to travel the entire way on foot or hitch a ride somehow. It would take her a long time to get there.

But if she did, if she somehow made it back, he would be there waiting for her.


	32. Chapter 32

**1927**

He stood on the bridge staring down at the ice, forearms resting on the railing. In the summer, the water would run and babble, its sound mixing with the birds' songs and the trees and leaves rustling in the wind. For now, though, it was frozen solid, and the birds had gone south.

Nine years. Nine long years he had been waiting there. Years full of fear and uncertainty, bruises, and the bite of constant hunger to show for his efforts

Sometimes it felt like those years had passed in the blink of an eye. One moment he was nineteen years old, still innocent and full of hope, and in the next moment he was nearly thirty years old and alone. Other times it felt like those years had dragged on forever, until it felt as if a lifetime had passed. Sometimes, when he managed to catch sight of his reflection, he was surprised to see he wasn't middle aged.

He was still waiting.

Sometimes he didn't know for what. Certainly not Anastasia. Not anymore. And certainly not anyone else of the royal family. He knew, now, that they had all been dead for years, murdered in cold blood by the soldiers who had kept them captive. And if Anastasia was lucky, she was dead, too.

God, he hoped she was dead. He didn't care if that made him a terrible person.

He didn't care if he thought that the real tragedy would be if she was still alive, somewhere. There was nothing left for her. Her family was gone and had been for a long time. Her home had been gone for even longer. Most of the royal family's belongings had long since been stolen or looted, so she wouldn't even have the small comfort of familiar things. Really, all that remained was her old, broken music box, and even Dmitry knew that wasn't enough.

He'd thought about dropping it in the river a few times over the years but couldn't bring himself to do it. It was one of the few things that he had left of hers. It was proof that he hadn't somehow imagined all those years of serving the family. He'd wondered about that, too, over the years.

Snow had begun to fall, so Dmitry straightened up and left the bridge. He didn't want to be caught outside in a snowstorm. Besides, Vlad was probably waiting for him with whatever concoction he had managed to pull together. Meals with Vlad weren't always strictly edible, but it was a far sight better than starving to death.

He knew, he'd nearly done it a few times in his past. The most recent time he'd been tempted to just let it happen, but he couldn't do that to Vlad.

"There you are, m'boy!" the man roared when Dmitry arrived. His legs nearly gave way when the older man clapped him on the back, but he managed to steady himself.

"Here I am," Dmitry smirked. "With a whole two cans of beans." Vlad grinned as he took the cans from him and turned toward the fireplace.

"These will go well with the bread I managed to get," he said. "It's not the best, but there weren't many options today."

"Bread and beans? That's all?"

Vlad brandished a poker at him, looking stern. "Don't complain. We're lucky to have even this."

Dmitry huffed a sigh and slouched into an armchair, not bothering to remove his coat. He knew he was supposed to be grateful that they had anything at all to eat, but it was difficult when the government had been telling them for over a decade that things were going to be better, if they just gave them a little more time. He had to wonder how much longer they were expected to wait for all that they had been promised.

"How was work?" Vlad quipped from the fire.

Dmitry smirked. "Slow. Not much to show for it. Not a lot of people on the streets when it's this cold."

"Bah! You always say that," Vlad laughed. "Yet you still managed to get your hands on some beans."

Dmitry shrugged, but didn't respond. Vlad didn't have to know that he had only been able to afford one can, and that he had swiped the second when no one was looking. They both knew very well that it was survival of the fittest in St. Petersburg. Or, rather, Leningrad, as they'd renamed the city. As if Dmitry needed another reminder of who was behind the Romanovs' deaths.

"I'm not sure if you would have heard the rumors," Vlad said slowly. Dmitry bristled. He was used to Vlad trying to make conversation when he was in this kind of mood, but he had, in fact, heard what people were saying.

"It's not true," Dmitry said stiffly. He hoped that would put an end to the topic.

"You don't know that."

Dmitry huffed again, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. True, he didn't know it for sure. But it had been nearly ten years, and the only people who turned up claiming to be a Romanov were imposters. He'd seen a picture of the most famous imposter, some girl in Berlin, and he couldn't understand why people thought she might actually be one of the Grand Duchesses. And after so many imposters, Dmitry had stopped paying attention to them.

"Just hear me out-"

"No."

"Dmitry…."

He grudgingly met Vlad's eyes. He had the strangest look on his face, a mixture of pity, hope, and possibly a bit of mania. He knew Vlad knew he spent large part of his life with the Romanovs. He also knew Vlad didn't know what he was talking about.

"I know what you're going to say," Dmitry said, "and I don't think we should."

"But why not?" he asked.

"I can think of a million reasons why not," Dmitry muttered. "I'm sure you could too, if you thought about it for more than ten seconds."

Vlad visibly deflated, fixing Dmitry with a look before turning back to the fire. Dmitry bowed his head and sighed.

"I wasn't trying to be mean," he said. "I just think it's a bad idea."

"Life is full of bad ideas, my boy," Vlad sighed. "You might as well take advantage of one or two." He held out a few slices of bread and a small bowl of beans, which Dmitry accepted gratefully.

"I think I hit my quota of bad ideas by the time I was eleven," Dmitry said, earning him a smile from the older man.

"Well then, what's one more?"

* * *

 _Another shorter chapter, but I wanted to get it out quickly. Which actually brings me to a question I have for you guys: Would you rather I post shorter chapters, with the hope that I update more frequently? Or longer chapters with a somewhat unpredictable posting schedule? I think I could do either, and I wanted to get your opinions._


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